I've Only Taken What Belongs To Me
by dipdipdipmyblueship
Summary: Carla disappears en route back from LA in November 2011. A re-write of a 2012 story I had written and published called, He's Come For Me.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I know I shouldn't be starting yet another fiction, but when I hit a bout of writer's block with my stories, I try to get my mojo back by brainstorming and writing the ideas that are floating around in my head. **

**Some of you may recall a story I once published here in 2012 called _He's Come For Me;_ and I know it was well-received but I have to be honest, I absolutely hated it. I hated it so much that I not only deleted it off here, but actually deleted it off of everything I had: laptop, USB, back up hard drive, etc. I did however have the intro chapter in an email, so I decided to re-write the whole thing and take it in a bit of a different direction. **

**This is my attempt to do so.**

**I'm hoping to have the second chapter of this up shortly; the final chapter of _For A Moment, I'd Forgotten_ up by tomorrow, and hopefully that will cure some of my writer's block going forward so that I am able to work on either the next instalment of _My Heart Bleeds_ or _A Casual Arrangement_.**

**Thank you all for being so patient, and for all the kind reviews on my stories so far. I do love to write, and it's been humbling to receive the responses I've had thus far.**

**Set on November 28th 2011. For the purposes of this fiction, Ciaran has not gambled away the money for his wedding to Michelle...**

* * *

She quickly locked the door to the guest bedroom, leaning her body against it while attempting to steady her racing heart. Pushing herself away from its frame, she walked backwards, staring at the now closed door, her phone and a small piece of paper clenched tightly in her hand. Once her back made contact with the wall behind her she slid down to floor. Drawing her knees in closer to her body, she frantically dialed a number and pressed the phone to her ear; her body convulsing with shakes, her eyes never leaving the door as a familiar voice picked up,

_"__Hiya you've reached Michelle! Sorry I missed your call, but leave a message and I'll get back to you, ta!"_

Carla ended the call and glanced to the clock on the side of the bed

_4:30 p.m._ She dialed another number on her mobile, pressing it again to her ear but was met with her own voice on the other end,

_"__Thank you for calling Underworld. We are in the office but away from the desk, please leave your name, phone number and a brief message and we'll get back to you as soon as possible."_

She angrily hung up the phone before trying another number,

_"__Hiya you've reached Maria, Liam, and Kirk! Sorry I –"_

She ended the call, placing the phone next to her on the floor, and dropping her head in her hands. 'Where is everyone?' she thought. Her fingers ran through her dark brown hair as she looked at her mobile again. There was only one other person she could call; _'but do I have the nerve?'_

The fingers of her left hand curled into a fist around the hair at the crown of her head, as her right hand dropped to her mouth. She absentmindedly began chewing on her fingernail as she weighed the pros and cons of her decision. She glanced at the white paper; a note that Michelle's cousin Aidan wrote her earlier that morning after Carla had fallen asleep due to her jet lag, and left it on the kitchen counter for her to see when she came down for a brew. Carla was awoken by the sound of the garage opening and Aidan's car speeding off to the meeting he had told her about at 4:00 pm.; she found the note shortly after, next to the coffee machine.

Squeezing her eyes closed and taking a deep breath, she picked up her mobile and scanned her contact list until she reached the name she was dreading to see. Her thumb hovered over the name, before she pressed the call button.

"Hello?"

"Leanne? It's Carla." The blonde woman rolled her eyes. Just as she thought they were all moving on, here began the phone calls again. She took a deep breath and berated herself for being jealous, remembering what Carla had just been through with Frank. The fact that she flew to the States was evident of how much she was suffering.

"What's up? I thought you were in L.A.?"

"I was. Bu-but I'm in Scotland right now. Listen I need you to do me a favour." Her voice was shaky.

_'Is that fear?'_ Leanne thought.

Leanne only heard Carla's voice like that once before; when she began investigating her then husband Tony, and asked Leanne if she could stay at hers for the night…only she never turned up, having fled to L.A. in fear of her life. Dread set in and Leanne swallowed hard; despite the present circumstances, she and Carla had been through a lot together; she knew when something was wrong.

And something was definitely wrong...

"I've rung Michelle, the factory, and Maria's, but no one is picking up! I'm running out of options here." Carla rambled on

"Carla, what's wrong? Has sommit 'appened?"

Carla closed her eyes, inhaling a deep breath and asked the three words she knew were going to cause a fight, "Is Peter there?"

Leanne's heart fluttered. "Why?"

"Please Leanne, I need to know," she drew in a shaky breath, "…is Peter there?"

"What, did he leave me and come running for you, you mean?" She couldn't stop the bitterness as it came out of her mouth, "Was that why you ran off to L.A. then? You wanted Peter to come running after you?" The continued silence on the other end just spurred her on further, "Why can't you just get it through your thick skull—"

Carla pressed her hand to her forehead, "Shut up! Shut up, Leanne and listen to me alright!" She pleaded.

The sound of a window breaking downstairs startled her, and she let out a gasp; her body now shaking uncontrollably.

Leanne heard the gasp through the receiver, "Car? You alright?"

"Listen Leanne, I need you to please answer the question: Is Peter in Weatherfield?"

"Yeah," her voice now becoming unsteady with worry, "he's in the pub with Ciaran. Carla, you're scarin' me now. What's going on? Where are you?"

Carla picked up the landline from its charging pod, and shuffled further into the corner of the room, still clutching the mobile phone to her ear; her eyes transfixed on the crack on the bottom of the door. "I had a stopover from LA for a few days in Scotland to meet a supplier. I'm at Aidan's, Michelle's cousin's place," she inhaled sharply as the sound of another window breaking echoed from below, "He left me a note from earlier this morning," she lowered her voice to just above a whisper, "he said someone came to the door asking to see me, and Aidan told him I were asleep; said his name was Peter Barlow."

Leanne's hand rose to cover her mouth.

Carla's eyes closed, tears filling behind her eyelids. She took a deep breath, "Okay, Leanne? I need you to call Becky. She's the only one who won't let on to others. Ask her if Frank has been at his factory."

Leanne nodded, reaching for the landline before something caught her eye, "I can do one better than that Carla, I see her on the street! Stay on the line, do not hang up!" Leanne ran from behind the Bookies counter and onto the cobbles after Becky who was heading toward Roy's Rolls.

Carla eyes fluttered between the door and the landline in her hand as she dialled 999; her mind so clouded in fear and dread as she tried to remember Aidan's address from memory

It was suddenly upon her as a voice sounded through the receiver, "Police please" she stated to the operator, still clutching her mobile to her ear.

"Please hold..." came the response

"Come on, come on..." she mumbled, waiting for the operator to begin taking her information as footfalls made their way up the creaky stairs...

* * *

Leanne grabbed ahold of Becky's arm,

"Oi!" the blonde stated defensively as she turned to face the person who apprehended her. She was met with a wide-eyed and panic-stricken Leanne, "steady on there Barlow! What you playin' at?"

"Becky, it's important! Look," Leanne swallowed and tried to catch her breath, "Was Frank in at work today?"

"Foster?" Becky asked confused, "No. No he's on a business trip in France."

Leanne's eyes widened, "When did he leave?"

"Two days ago, why?"

"Are you sure?" Leanne asked shakily

"Yeah, positive," Becky responded before a perplexed look took over her features, "You know come to mention it, it were a bit odd actually. Didn't think he were allowed access to his passport, you know, considerin'."

"Oh no!" Leanne breathed before turning and running towards the pub, "Carla! Lock the doors and ring the police!" she ordered as she made her way to the Rovers, a curious Becky now hot on her heels, "Carla? Can you hear me?"

_Her eyes were glued to the door in front of her. She watched as the light shining into the room from the crack at the bottom was soon overshadowed with the dark outline of feet. She pressed her back further into the wall behind her as tears welled up in her eyes._

_"Ma'am? Ma'am? What is your emergency?" The voice on the landline repeated, but Carla just shook; paralyzed with fear. "Ma'am, we have identified your location; Officers have been dispatched. If you understand please acknowledge…"_

_"Hurry..." she whispered before quickly ending the call, hoping that the cut off might just hasten their arrival as the figure on the other side of the door tried the door handle and adding more force upon realizing it was locked._

_Carla slowly rose to her feet, looking desperately around for another way out and feeling her heart sink as the only possible escape was a window that was far too small for her to squeeze out of..._

Leanne burst through the pub doors to see Ciaran, Michelle, Peter, and Stella in a conversation at the bar.

"Love? What's wrong?" Stella inquired.

_…The banging on the other side of the door became more insistent and Carla knew it wouldn't take long before they knocked the door clean off its hinges. "no, no no…" she whispered as tears cascaded down her cheeks, still clutching the mobile in her hands..._

"Lea?" Peter put a hand on her shoulder, "What is it?"

"It's Carla!"

"What about Carla?" Michelle asked harshly stepping forward.

Leanne took a breath still clutching her mobile to her ear, "Someone showed up to Aidan's this morning looking for her, only she were asleep," she gulped some air into her lungs, "they told Aidan their name was Peter Barlow,"

Peter's head darted around to look at Ciaran and Michelle before coming to rest on Leanne again, "you what?"

_…the door flung open and Carla found herself facing the man who haunted her thoughts since that fateful night in September …_

"Leanne thinks it might have something to do with Frank," Becky interjected.

Leanne's face suddenly went white and the faint sound of a scream could be heard through her mobile.

Fear took hold of Michelle's heart and she snatched the phone from Leanne, her trembling fingers putting it on loudspeaker. An unnatural quiet fell over the pub as they listened to the sounds of items being smashed emitting from the mobile.

"Car? Car!" Michelle's eyes filled with tears. They heard grunts and the sounds of a struggle; a short scream emanated from Carla, before the call cut off. "Carla!" Michelle screamed, "No!" her hand covered her mouth as sobs began to escape her.

A tearful Leanne hugged her arms to her chest as Stella wrapped a comforting arm about her shoulders while Ciaran placed both hands on a now hysterical Michelle's shoulders, looking at Peter who simply stood rooted to the spot: staring at the phone in Michelle's hand with his hands gripping the hair on either side of his head.

"No," he exhaled sharply

"Oh dear," Audrey exclaimed to Gail, "Oh, I better call Maria..."

As the regulars of the Rovers Return sat in eerie silence, each attempting to comprehend what they just witnessed, Peter felt a rage build inside him. He lifted his eyes to the bar, "Stella?" he waited for the barmaid to look towards him, "We need the phone..."


	2. Chapter 2

Peter sat next to Leanne in a booth as she finished explaining the series of events. DC Malone sat across from them with a junior officer to her left.

"So just to clarify, Miss Connor called the Bookies?"

"No, she called my mobile." Leanne stated, not missing the inquisitive glance the detective gave her husband. "Hey!" she snapped to draw Malone's attention back to her, "I said it were _my_ mobile she called. If she wanted to talk directly to Peter she would have called him herself."

At this statement Peter's heart sank. _'Why didn't she call me?'_ He dropped his head in his hands as realization dawned on him, _'she's trying to keep her distance from me… God this is such a mess!'_

Maria and Kirk walked into the unusually quiet pub. "What's going on?" She asked Stella, who just gestured to the booth where her daughter and son-in-law were sat.

"Oh, Maria!" Audrey stated, standing up next to her, "Did you not get my message?"

"Oh no, Sorry Audrey! Liam had hidden me phone and when I found it it were out of charge," She responded, her eyes falling upon DC Malone as she questioned Peter, "What's gone on?"

"Well, apparently it's about Carla-" Audrey began to fill her in

"Problem, Mr. Barlow?" DC Malone prodded. Peter lifted his head and stared into her eyes before leaning back against the cushions on the booth. Rage was boiling beneath his calm surface, but Ciaran noticed the flexing of his fists as he spoke.

"No, no, why would there be a problem? Our –" he pointed to those around him, "-friend Carla, you remember her? The rape victim? Was being tormented by her attacker since she filed the complaint against him. From the word 'go', you lot believed his lies and his little innocent act. It didn't matter that he threatened her two days after he was released on bail the first time; No no, he then gets released _again_, and decides that since he can't see her and torture him himself-" he leaned forward, his finger pointedly tapping the table as he spoke. Leanne's eyes darted between the officers and her husband as she laid her hand on his arm in a comforting manner.

"…he decides to use his mother as a proxy so that he can continue to harass Carla into dropping the charges against him."

"Mr. Barlow, he was in his rights to use a proxy when it came to the business. In the eyes of the law he is innocent until proven guilty. If Mrs. Foster was indeed harassing Miss Connor she needed only pick up the phone to us."

"Why, so you could _'protect' _her the way you did the first time? You know this justice system you speak of is a farce. It is a sad state when an 'alleged' rapist gets more rights than his victim. Do you know that she was considering dropping the charges? Hmm? Just so she could get on with her life? Her sister-in-law here," he pointed to Michelle, who was sat at the bar, mascara running down her face, "-convinced her to go to L.A. so she could clear her mind. Sort out her thoughts without having to worry about bumping into him on every corner. And what happens? He finds out she's had a stopover in Scotland, and he follows her out there-"

"He what?" Maria interrupted as she came to stand next to him.

"Yeah Maria," Peter stated as he leaned back again, "Frank Foster has gone-"

"-allegedly gone-" Malone corrected him.

Peter banged his fist on the table, "it is not allegedly!" he snapped through gritted teeth.

"Peter please, calm down! You won't be any help to Carla if you give yourself a heart attack." Leanne begged him as she stroked his arm comfortingly, tears filling her eyes. The passion behind her husband's concern for Carla making itself clearly known, and it broke her heart to witness it…but Carla's life was hanging in the balance and her jealousy over their relationship would only make matters far worse than they already were.

"How has he been allowed to leave the country, didn't you take his passport?" Maria's voice was now high-pitched with fear.

"His passport was confiscated as part of his bail conditions-" Malone began but was interrupted by Maria who had now stepped towards her placing her hands on the table and leaning in close so their faces were almost touching.

"I warned you!" Maria stated through gritted teeth, her face contorting in anger, "I warned you he would pull a stunt like this! The man is a _rapist_…he doesn't care about her personal space or the law!"

DC Malone stood up, "We are treating this very seriously. This case is now my top priority." Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes, but she continued, "Look, I know tensions are high right now, so if you can think of anything else please contact me. Miss Connor?" She looked at Michelle, "I'll need the name, address, and phone number of your cousin in Scotland please. I'll need to contact the authorities there immediately."

"Yeah, of course, here I'll come outside." Michelle sniffled and headed towards the doors.

"I'll be in touch." Malone stated to Peter, Leanne and Maria before following Michelle out. Maria sank into the seat across from Peter, as Ciaran came to stand next to her.

"How the 'ell did this happen? How the 'ell did he get out of the country?" Maria asked.

"Well he certainly planned this well," Peter shook his head, "he knows he won't have to hit any border checkpoints going into Scotland. Wouldn't even have had to book a train or a plane to get there. Just filled up his tank and took off!"

"But surely there's still restrictions on his travel?" Leanne stated

"Yeah cause he's such a law-abiding citizen, in't he?" Maria scoffed

"Michelle is just devastated." Ciaran said shaking his head. "She convinced her to go to the States in the first place and now…" he trailed off.

"What 'appened exactly?" Maria inquired. Leanne began to fill her in. After some time, Peter got up and walked to the bar, Ciaran following him.

Gary Windass moved to stand next to Peter, "Hey mate? Listen, what part of Scotland was Carla visiting?" At Peter's inquisitive look he continued, "Only I have some army mates that live there. I might be able to get them to keep an eye out or sommit?"

Peter's crossed his arms, and leaned in close to Gary, "You have friends in Scotland?" he whispered.

Gary nodded as he also crossed his arms and leaned in closer to Peter, "Yeah."

The wheels that began turning in Peter's head were interrupted when he saw Michelle coming back into the pub, fresh tears and sobs wracking her body. Maria stood and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "What's 'appened 'Chelle?" She asked, the horror evident in her voice.

Michelle's voice quivered, "Aid-Aidan called me while we were outside, he were surrounded by coppers. H-he said that Carla's not there. The windows in his kitchen were broken, and the door to the guest bedroom where Carla was staying was force-forcefully entered into, her mobile 'as been smashed. There is no sign of her…DC Malone is talking to the lead detective on the scene!" Michelle furiously wiped the tears from her face.

Malone re-entered the pub, and stood beside Michelle. "I've just spoken to a Detective Baird. They will be running tests on Miss Connor's phone and they are sweeping the house for fingerprints. A witness has stepped forward; a gardener who claims to have seen a man resembling Mr. Foster's description carrying an unconscious female, resembling Miss Connor's description, to a car and speeding away. He has been taken to the station for further questioning, and I'm heading back to email Detective Baird a photo of Mr. Foster." She looked down for a moment before continuing, "However, I should also warn you, that they found blood." Leanne felt the blood drain from her face as she stood on the other side of Michelle who was beyond pale herself. "Small traces," Malone continued, "on the bedside table and more trailing down the stairs and out the door."

At this Michelle suddenly collapsed to the floor, "Oh, God no!" she sobbed as Maria crouched beside her and pulled her head to rest on her shoulder.

"I am very sorry, but I will keep you posted when I have more news." DC Malone stated and she turned and walked out of the pub.

Peter suddenly turned back to Gary, "I need the names of your friends,"

"Why Peter?" Ciaran asked.

"'Cause I'm going to Scotland." Peter responded. Leanne's eyes widened in fear and shock, unable to say a word.

"I'm coming with you." Ciaran said.

"Same 'ere!" Gary joined.

Peter looked at him inquisitively. "Why you?" he asked.

Gary gave a smile, "Because my soldier status will get you around a lot quicker than without me. Plus I'm an extra set of hands to ensure Frank Foster gets his comeuppance."

Peter and Ciaran looked at each other and nodded in agreement, "Let's get a move on then." Ciaran stated.

"Go pack a bag each, and we'll meet back here in an hour. I've got to see to Simon." Peter stated as he made his way to the doors.

"Peter…" Michelle's voice was small, but her grip on his arm was firm; he leaned down to her, "You bring her back. I've lost too many people special to me…I can't lose her an' all," her voice suddenly became strong as her eyes burned with a fire peter had never seen before, "so you bring her back to me, you hear?"

Peter cupped her cheek reassuringly before purposefully walking out of the pub.

* * *

He sat in the dimly lit hospital room; the scene bringing waves of déjà vu. Just two months earlier he sat in a similar hospital room watching for any signs of life from his beautiful fiancée.

But this time she is his ex, his victim…and still breathtakingly beautiful.

He reaches out and strokes her cheek. Coming to the hospital was risky, but that head wound worried him.

He remembered opening the door to the bedroom, seeing her standing in the small room just opposite the door; her body shaking violently as tears cascaded down her cheeks. Her hair clung to her wet, tanned cheeks, her eyes wide with fear; her mobile dropping from her hand.

_Beautiful._

He remembers slowly moving towards her, watching as she tried desperately to retreat further into the wall behind her; wanting it to open and swallow her up. She was scared of him, and a piece of his heart broke. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. She shouldn't be scared of him; she should be in love with him.

But she would never love him, he knew that. Not as long as she loved Peter.

He felt the anger building beneath his skin, and the need to punish her for not loving him temporarily healed his aching heart.

"Hello, Carla." He whispered. He saw the moment it registered for her: this wasn't one of her nightmares, and she screamed, grabbing the lamp from the bedside table and launching it at him. He ducked just before it made contact with his head and it shattered against the wall behind him. She picked up the trinkets on the table, and threw them one by one in his direction as he dodged them, a smirk pulling at his lips at her futile attempts before he got close enough to reach out with his gloved hands and grab her.

She didn't freeze this time though; this time she fought back against him.

But she was weak; thinner than before, and he knew it was due to the stress and lack of sleep. But she continued to fight him as if her life depended on it. He grunted as she thrashed against him and kicked him in the shin before losing her balance.

He remembered trying to grab her as she stumbled backwards. He remembered seeing her knees give out from under her, and the small scream that escaped her lips before the side of her head connected with the corner of the bedside table with a sickening thud. Her body turned on impact as she crumbled to the floor; the side of her body landed on her mobile, cracking the screen and ending the call to whomever she had on the line.

He remembered her eyes closing as she laid there in a heap on her side, and the panic that rose in his heart at the thought of losing her. He quickly grabbed the towel that hung off the back of the door and pressed it to the wound on her temple before any more blood had the chance to seep onto the floor. He carefully picked her up, and cradled her in his arms.

He moved to the stairs, holding her close as he descended them.

He remembered opening the front door and quickly glancing outside for any possible onlookers. He carried her to the car, and fumbled with opening the door, careful not to drop his precious burden.

He remembered the faint sound of sirens as he placed her in the backseat.

He remembered driving like mad down the street and glancing in the rearview mirror to see if any of the police cars were tailing him.

But the sirens became more and more distant.

He remembered breathing a sigh of relief.

He drove for almost thirty minutes, constantly shouting Carla's name to ensure she kept somewhat semi-conscious, before finally reaching Edinburgh, and pulling into a hospital. He remembered calling for the help of the two male nurses. He remembered them pulling a disoriented but somewhat conscious Carla out of the car, the seat of the car now wet with her blood.

He remembered the triage nurse asking for her name, "Carla-" he paused, realizing he couldn't give them her real last name, "-Gordon" he answered quickly, "I'm her fiancé, Peter Barlow," he felt the bile rise in his throat as he said the bookie's name. But he knew that if Carla had been talking to Peter on her mobile before he burst into her room, that he would have already called the authorities to report him; using Peter's name would provide him with a bit of cover - he wouldn't expect Frank to use his name after all - until he could ensure Carla was okay; and until he was able to make a run for it.

After some more questions from the nurse, he watched as his ex-fiancee was rolled down the hallway, and tears filled his eyes.

_How did it come to this?_

He remembered the nervousness he felt as the doctor approached him in the waiting room as he nervously paced the corridor, and the relief that overtook him as he was informed that the wound on her temple had been cleaned and stitched up and that she would be okay. He remembered his hands reaching up to cradle his head as tears escaped his eyes…

_He hadn't lost her today_.

He remembered the feeling of anguish he felt as he entered the hospital room where she laid. He knew that when she woke up, she would scream and he would be caught. He moved over to her unconscious form, and planted a gentle kiss on her lips, knowing it may be his last chance to do so.

He remembered moving the chair closer to the door so he could make a quick getaway when needed, but also picking a better angle to see her.

He had paid using a pre-loaded, unlinked credit card - which he had loaded with thousands of pounds so he would be able to move about undetected days prior- and paid for Carla to have her own private room. It also gave him the privacy to simply sit and take her all in without the prying eyes of other patients and their families.

It seemed like hours later when he finally saw her eyes flutter and he quickly went to the door, "Nurse!" he yelled, as a nurse and a doctor came running. He stood by the door as they approached her, his hand on the handle as if waiting for the inevitable.

"Miss Gordon?" The doctor leaned in gently to her. "Can you hear me?"

Carla's eyes flickered to the man leaning over her, a sudden sharp pain pulsated through her head as small starbursts clouded her vision.

"Hey, try not to move too much. You've given your head quite a blow. You're in the hospital right now, but I need to ask you a few questions, okay?"

"Okay." Her voice was hoarse.

"Do you know what year it is?"

"2011"

"Good." The doctor encouraged. "Do you know the month?"

"It were November, I think?"

"That's right." the nurse furiously scribbled the information down as the doctor asked another question, "Do you know your name?"

Before she could answer she noticed the third person in the room, standing by the door. A wave of nausea fluttered to her stomach, but why she wasn't sure.

"No." her voice quivered, "Wh-why can't I remember my name?"

Frank's heart skipped a beat as he stepped forward. _'Could it be...'_

"It's alright," the doctor assured her, "that can happen when you're under stress," he said, watching her blood pressure monitor as it beeped incessantly.

"Carla," Frank said quietly, "your name is Carla." She simply stared at him, her eyes fearful as they flickered between him and the doctor, "Do you remember _me_?" he asked, still close enough to the door to bolt if necessary.

It took a moment for her to respond, "No," she choked out, "should I?"

Frank's eyes met the doctor's as he was addressed, "Mr. Barlow, may I see you outside for a moment?"

Frank glanced back to the woman in the bed, giving her a reassuring smile before following the doctor out.

"Mr. Barlow, it seems that she might be suffering from post-traumatic or dissociative amnesia."

Frank lowered his eyes to the floor and bit his lip. "And the effects?"

"It generally occurs after a head injury of this magnitude, but the effects are often transient, maybe lasting a few days to a few months. In rare cases it could be permanent, depending on the damage and if the patient is subconsciously repressing memories due to a traumatic episode."

"Okay, well when can I take her home?"

"We'd like to keep an eye on her for the next couple of hours to ensure there are no further signs of concussion, and we should be getting the results of her brain scan back shortly. If all is well she can be discharged within the next few hours."

"Okay then, umm-" Frank put his hands on his hips, "I'm going to go and book a hotel for the night, and I'll be back in an hour or so. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to ask for a favour." He leaned in close to the doctor, "the result of this accident was due to a fight she had with an ex-boyfriend. I don't want him to find her, so is there anyway we could keep all information pertaining to Miss Gordon strictly confidential? I mean, this guy is quite twisted. He's probably called her in missing to the police..."

"You mean, act as if she is not here?" the doctor questioned

"More or less," Frank responded, "I'll compensate you for any trouble of course..."

"I'll see what I can do." The doctor walked back into the room, as Frank looked on through the glass at Carla.

He smiled to himself before walking down the corridor.

He couldn't believe his luck...


	3. Chapter 3

"Peter this is madness!" Leanne said to him upon returning to their flat, having dropped Simon off at Ken and Deirdre's for the night.

"Lea," Peter sighed as he turned to face her, "try to understand; we have a better chance of catching him if we go now."

"But why? Why does it have to be you Peter? Leave it to the professionals!"

"The professionals? The _professionals_, Leanne? The ones who let him slip through their fingers? The ones who are still convinced she's making it up? You saw Malone's face when you said Carla called you. She still thinks it has something to do with me and her and this ridiculous story Frank has spun about us trying to set him up!"

"And does it?" Leanne shouted, the words escaping her mouth before she could think. Realizing her mistake she brought both hands to her mouth.

He looked incredulously at her, "Oh I don't believe this!" he stated grabbing his packed duffel bag and furiously zipping it closed. He paused and faced her again, "You know, you are really showing me your true colours Lea and it ain't pretty!"

"I didn't mean that-"

"No. You know what? Yes, you did! At least admit it, eh?" He turned to head into the bedroom but then spun to face her once more, his agitation getting the better of him, "You are incredibly hypocritical do you know that?" he began walking towards her, anger fueling his steps, "You stand there and you turn down your nose at Carla for having feelings for me when you had an affair with your ex! I didn't have the affair Lea, you did. And this whole mess, this whole bloody mess is down to that!" He turned back to his bag. "I can't do this anymore…"

Leanne collapsed on the arm of the sofa. "What are you saying Peter?"

"That this never would have happened if I had just followed my gut!"

"Oh, and what was that?" Leanne shook, her voice raising on near hysteria, "Peter, you can't just say sommit like that and then say nowt!"

"That we shouldn't have gotten back together after the fallout at the blessing, okay?" he spat as he turned to face her, his arms flying out beside him, "I never forgave you for the affair! Alright? Is that what you wanted to hear? Well, there, I said it! I took you back for Simon's sake, and I tried to get past it." He saw the pain etch across Leanne's face and he took a step back to quell his anger, but he still could no longer hold back, "I tried to move on, Lea. Really, I did. But I can't. And yes, I had feelings for Carla, and I just pushed them down and buried them because I really wanted this to work for Simon's sake; I didn't even see her after the blessing fiasco until June…_June_, Leanne. And you sat there on your moral high horse, treating her like a piece of scum, and I blindly supported you. I pushed her back and I fought my feelings for her again. I wanted this marriage to work so much for Simon's sake that I pushed her towards Frank; thinking that if she got married to him that all our problems would be solved…I pushed her into agreeing to marry him when she wasn't ready; do you not get it Leanne? He raped her because of me." His eyes filled with tears at his revelation. "He raped her because of me." He repeated in a low whisper.

Leanne sat, eyes brimming with tears. She should be furious at his confession over his feelings for Carla, but all she could feel was guilt; Guilt for her role in this mess. Vilifying Carla while acting like she was a saint. They both made mistakes, heck, it was why they were such good mates in the first place. They could both be as good as each other, and just as bad...

She closed her eyes and exhaled a shaky breath. Maybe had she not been so insufferably stubborn and forgave Carla, they could have tried to repair their fractured friendship. Maybe she would have been her shoulder to cry on when her mother died, not Frank. Maybe, if things were different, she never would never have fallen so deep into Frank's orbit.

"Don't you see Lea, I have to go to Scotland, I have to right this wrong. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to her again and I just sat here twiddling my thumbs."

"And what happens when you get back?" she choked through her tears.

Peter sighed, knowing he had to be honest but still not wanting to open this can of worms, "I don't know Leanne. But this," he pointed back and forth between them, "this isn't working and it wasn't before Frank's attack on Carla. It wasn't working before June. It wasn't working since October - since you and Nick and that flamin' bar - and I think that as much as you don't want to admit that, you know I'm right: deep down, you know that. I think we've been pushing forward for Simon's sake, and it isn't fair on any of us."

Leanne stared at a spot on the floor; she had to agree with him though it broke her heart to do so. They had more problems than not in their tumultuous relationship. Their one shining beacon was Simon. She closed her eyes and the tears cascaded down her cheeks, he would be devastated when he found out.

Peter knelt in front of Leanne, placing a hand under her chin until she opened her eyes and looked at him, "Lea, I know that you love me, and you know that I love you. But I think we both have to face the reality that we are both _in love_ with other people..."

She couldn't respond to him, so she simply stared into his soft brown eyes and sighed as he brushed the tears that fell down her face away with his thumb.

"You were one of the best things that's ever happened to me. You are a beautiful, selfless, loving woman, and a fantastic step mum to our Si. But love, we can't do this right now. Right now I have to get to Scotland before Frank does something we may not be able to fix. But while I'm gone you have to think…I mean _really _think Leanne…what do _you_ want? Not what Simon wants…_you_! And I'm going to do the same. And when I come back, we'll have a proper talk about it, okay?"

She nodded before standing up and enveloping him in a hug. "Peter, please be careful!"

"I will." He stated as he pulled her into a tighter embrace and kissed her cheek. She pulled away and walked into the bedroom, as tears gushed down her face, and closed the door behind her.

Peter stared at the bedroom door for a long moment, before grabbing his passport and the duffel bag. With one final glance to the bedroom door, he exited the flat.

Gary and Ciaran were waiting outside the pub, along with Michelle, Maria and Kirk.

"Hey, I managed to book us tickets into Edinburgh. Train leaves in an hour." Ciaran said

"Is that where you'll start looking for her?" Kirk asked

"No, we'll be renting a car and heading to Glasgow," Ciaran answered

"Why Glasgow?" Maria asked

"That's where she had her meeting with the suppliers. Aidan lives about 30 minutes outside of the city." Michelle sniffed

"Yeah, and I sent me mates a picture of Carla, and a photo of Frank I found off the web. They also live just outside Glasgow. Plus, Michelle said Ryan is at uni there, so he may be able to help as well. It'll be a good place for us to base ourselves out of to start since it's not too far of a journey from Aidan's." Gary informed him as Steve pulled up in a taxi to take them to Piccadilly Station.

"Are you sure you won't get lost, you know, going from Edinburgh to Glasgow at night?" Kirk asked

"I grew up in Glasgow, Kirk," Peter stated, "Trust me, I know my way around..."

As they said their goodbyes, and filed into the cab, Peter glanced once more at the Bookies and the woman that now stood in front of its door. He gave her a smile and a wink, before climbing into the cab himself.

As the cab drove off, Leanne sighed and walked over to Michelle and Maria.

"I can't believe this is happening. I never should have convinced her to go," Michelle sobbed, "I'll never forgive meself if he hurts her again." Maria pulled her into a hug, and Leanne laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"You can't think like that Michelle," Leanne sniffed, trying to keep her voice strong, "Carla's a fighter…"

"I thought so too," Michelle whispered into the crook of Maria's arm, "But you both know what it did to her. She barely survived it the last time…"

"Peter will find her, 'Chelle." Maria assured her, "And when he brings her home, we'll all be there to help her through it and make sure Frank is brought to justice. Once and for all."

* * *

Dennis and Marcus sat in a bar in Glasgow's city centre. Enlarged photos of a smiling, dark-haired woman strewn across the table next to their pints of beer. Another set of enlarged photos, these of a man, stationed on the other side of their glasses.

"She's fit, I tell you." Marcus said looking at the photo of the woman and taking a sip of his beer, "I can see why he won't give her up that easily."

"Doesn't excuse what he did though." Dennis retorted popping a chip into his mouth.

"Well, of course not. But he must love her, in his own sick way, to follow her out here? Risking going to prison for breaking his bail conditions?" Marcus shook his head, "He's got balls I tell you. When is Windass and his mates coming in?"

"Train arrived in Edinburgh about an hour ago, I reckon. They've grabbed a rental car and are on their way out here, Windass will text me from a burner phone when they're closer. They'll drop their gear off at a nearby hotel and then meet us here and start hitting up the hospitals; if she got injured there's a chance he may have taken her to one to check her out." Dennis stated.

"Do you really think he'd risk taking her to a hospital?" Marcus shook his head, "Nah man. He's probably hid up in some seedy inn somewhere, trying to keep a low profile."

"Yeah, and we'll be hitting those too. Who knows how far he's gotten too by now. He won't be heading back to England, too risky. The coppers would have sent his photo out to Scottish Police by now, it's only a matter of time before the media get a hold of it," Dennis grabbed another chip, "nah, he'll be staying somewhere in the general vicinity, you mark my words." He looked to the door and gave a nod to acknowledge the two men that just walked entered the bar. "Hey, James and Phil are here." As the two men approached the table, Marcus and Dennis stood up and clasped forearms with their friends.

"Ahhh the life of the off-duty soldier eh James?" Phil joked as he went to the bar to order two more pints of beer.

"You're telling me man." James laughed, "always at the bar or chasing some skirt, while the rest of us gotta work 12 hour shifts!"

"Yeah yeah, I'll remember that the next time I'm dodging bullets in Afghanistan, mate!" Marcus laughed as he sat back in the booth. "So how was the drive in from Edinburgh? How is life at the hospital treating you two?"

"Ahh not too bad I guess. Got off shift at 10:00 PM, just gone 11:00PM now so all in all pretty good. I tell you, I'm actually looking forward to having this week off to visit my family. If I don't see another pregnant woman screaming bloody murder as she's wheeled into the hospital it won't be too soon!" James said as he took off his jacket.

Phil walked back over and removed his jacket before sliding into the booth, "yeah but there was this one couple this afternoon, phew! The blood man! My scrubs were destroyed! The girl, dead beautiful I might add, had this head wound-hey!" he grabbed the photo, "that's her…and that's the guy!"

"Yeah so it is!" James agreed as he picked up the photos, "Why do you have pictures of them?"

"Wait! This woman? You saw this woman at the hospital today?" Marcus demanded holding up the picture and pointing to it.

"Yeah man, that's her! She was barely conscious and the guy was beside himself, but that's her!" James confirmed. Dennis and Marcus exchanged glances. "What?" James asked.

"Guys, why do you have photos of these two?" Phil asked them pointedly.

"A soldier from Manchester that we met in Afghanistan, him and two guys are travelling out here as we speak looking for her. Apparently this guy," Dennis held up the photo, "was engaged to her, but she broke it off the night before the wedding."

"Ouch!" James winced.

"Yeah, so he raped her."

"Come again?" Phil asked

"Yeah, raped her. He was released on bail, and long story short she had gone out to L.A. to clear her head, then stopped over for a few days, just about thirty minutes outside Glasgow, for a business meeting and he followed her out here."

"I thought being charged with a felony means he has bail restrictions, like having to stay at a particular address, having to check in with the police periodically and ummm, oh yeah! _Not_ approaching your accuser?" James asked, "How the hell did he slip under the radar like that?"

"That's what everyone wants to know."

"Wait…is she still there?" Dennis asked suddenly.

"I dunno, our shift ended just over an hour ago." Phil said.

Dennis and Marcus exchanged a look before James pulled out his mobile, "Hang on, I know who may help us!" he said, dialling a number on his phone,

"You best text Windass," Marcus stated as Dennis nodded and pulled out his mobile, "tell them not to bother dropping off their gear…"

After pressing the required extensions, James put the phone on the table and pressed the loudspeaker as a voice came through loudly

"Louise speaking,"

"Hey Louise, it's James Ewan…

"I thought you'd clocked off for the week? Shouldn't you be in Glasgow by now?"

"I did, and I am. Listen, is Dr. Gregory still in, Louise?" James asked as all four men leaned in closer to the phone.

"No, he left about 30 minutes ago." She said. Dennis angrily smacked the table and Marcus threw his head back and let out a sigh of frustration.

"Okay, Louise I need you to do me a favour," James said as he tapped his fingers on the table near the mobile, "I need you to check on that patient that came in today, you know the English woman? Head wound? She still there?"

"You know I can't be doing that, James-" she lowered her voice to a whisper

"I know Louise, and I wouldn't be asking if it weren't an absolute emergency. Please?"

"I don't know-" she answered warily

"Come on Louise, I helped your friend that time, remember? The one without insurance…?"

"Okay, okay," Louise exhaled and furiously typed on the keyboard, "you know I can get into a lot of trouble for thi-"

"It's important Louise, hurry up!" Phil snapped.

"Carla Gordon – moderate concussion; all vital signs normal; blood pressure normal…" She peered in closer to the computer screen, "Oh, hang on…"

"What?" James asked, his eyes meeting Phil's apprehensively

"Dr Gregory noted that she seems to be showing symptoms of post-traumatic amnesia –" Louise read,

"Amnesia?" Dennis repeated and Marcus dropped his head into his hands

Louise continued "-Says she was discharged an hour and a half ago into the care of her fiancée Peter Barlow."

Phil closed his eyes and bowed his head. Dennis and Marcus looked at each other,

"Shit."


	4. Chapter 4

Peter, Ciaran, and Gary sat across the table at a cafe in Glasgow from Dennis and Marcus; photos of Carla and Frank sprawled on one side and a map of Edinburgh and the surrounding counties with several red and green dots littering its surface, was spread in the centre of the table, as the early morning sun peeked its way into the windows.

They had managed a few hours shut eye, all except for Peter who spent the majority of the night trying to repel the craving to down a bottle of whiskey as his mind painted all sorts of sickening pictures involving Carla and Frank...and so he lit cigarette after cigarette as he fought the urge to drown the images from his brain, and the anxiety that threatened to overtake him.

He wanted to head right back to Edinburgh the moment they arrived in Glasgow and was filled in by Dennis and Marcus that Carla was last seen at a hospital in Edinburgh.

But he was outvoted; they had to wait to trade in the car they rented for a larger van in order to take Dennis and Marcus along with them. They also needed to make a stop to pick up Aidan, who had insisted on helping to find Carla.

Peter knew it was the right decision: them rushing back in the dead of night all guns blazing wouldn't help them find her any faster. They needed a plan and he knew it. But it didn't stop the fear of what may await them when they did find her...

And to him it was a _when_, not an _if_. If Peter Barlow was sure of anything, it was that.

"So once we discovered she was at this hospital, we started googling and checking the surrounding motels." Marcus explained as he pointed to the red dots. "He used the names 'Barlow' and 'Gordon', so we checked with the staff at the motels, sent them photos via email when they requested it. Each red dot represents the places we've checked. The green dots represent the places we need to check."

"So why did he use your name Peter?" Dennis asked, eyeballing the man who sat biting his fingernails and anxiously drinking his coffee.

"'Cause she's my mate. He knows we're close, and I would be someone she would come down to see if she thought I was there; and hey, he couldn't very well use his name now could he?" Peter snapped.

Dennis puts his hands up in mock surrender, "Hey easy man. I just like to know the full scoop before getting in deep into a love triangle."

"A what?" Peter scoffed.

"Oh come on. It's as plain as the nose on your face! She's in love with you but you're married so she tried to move on with this guy. And it worked for a bit until she got cold feet and she called off the wedding. He suspected it had something to do with you, wanted to punish her, and he raped her. Then, after a few months and still being obsessed with her, he finds out she'll be here for a few days, allowing him the perfect opportunity to break his bail restrictions because theres no border checkpoints. So he follows her out here but knows she'd call the police if she knew he were nearby, so lo and behold, he uses your name knowing she'll see _you_." Dennis sat back smugly.

"Got it all figured out don't you?" Peter gritted out.

"Yup, and I'll tell you what else I figured out," Dennis leant forward onto his elbows, "you're in love with her and all!"

"Really?" Peter challenged.

"Yes, sir." He lowered his voice, "Look Barlow, I know, okay? I know what it's like to be in love with a woman who's not your girlfriend, or your wife in your case. I can see it in your eyes when you look at her picture, I can see it in your antsy movements, I can see your uneasiness behind the relaxed façade." Peter's mouth formed a tight line, unable to come back with a quip. "The problem is, he sees it too. And he'll use it against you, whenever you should make your appearance." Dennis leaned back again.

"Fine, I admit it. I care about her... very much," he acknowledged quietly, fiddling with his coffee mug, as Dennis and Gary shared a knowing glance with each other, accepting that he wouldn't admit to anymore than that at the present time, "the question is are you going to help me find her?"

"Was never a question in my mind mate," Dennis said as he reached out his hand, Peter gave a derisive chuckle and shook the outstretched hand. "But you need to hide those feelings man, or I guarantee you he will use it against you…and win."

Ciaran leaned in to Gary and whispered, "Did you know?"

The redhead smirked, "I had my suspicions."

"So am I just daft?" Ciaran exclaimed.

"Nah mate, you've just been too wrapped up in your own love life to notice the subtleties." Gary said lightly punching Ciaran in the shoulder.

"So these green dots, are they all motels?"

"Yeah, we figured he would want to keep a low profile, and motels are usually good for that." Marcus stated.

"Yeah, but you don't know this bloke. He's got cheek and dosh. He's the type to hole up in a ritzy place, and believe me he could talk his way out of a police lineup. But what I don't understand is how Carla hasn't screamed bloody murder yet? I refuse to believe that she's just given up!" Peter furiously rubbed his brow.

Dennis and Marcus exchanged a glance, before Marcus spoke up, "Umm we were gonna broach that subject eventually; see ummm" he took a deep breath, "she hasn't quite given up…she's got amnesia."

"What?" Peter breathed out disbelievingly.

"Post-traumatic amnesia." Dennis continued. "It's usually temporary, brought on by a head injury, unless she is subconsciously trying to repress something traumatic…like a rape for instance."

"So what you're saying is that she is with Frank now of her own free will…because she can't remember who she is?" Ciaran asked

"More importantly, because she can't remember who _he_ is. Apparently she was discharged into her _fiancée's _care." Marcus responded. "The good news is, while she doesn't remember anything, he is going to be trying his hardest to not spark that memory back. According to James and Phil, he was beside himself in the hospital with worry that she might die. The guy is twisted, but he believes he loves her."

Gary spoke up, "all the more reason for him to lay on the romance in a posh hotel and not in a seedy motel. He won't want to draw suspicion from her, and memory or no memory, that Carla is a smart one; she will figure out what he's hiding, eventually."

Peter stared at the photo of her; smiling and carefree; his heart sank as he thought of her in even more of a vulnerable state than she already was in, and left under the protection of that animal...

He shuddered at the thought and absentmindedly stroked her cheek before asserting, "We need to find her..."

* * *

Her eyes flickered open as the sun poured in from the slightly pulled back curtains. She blinked her heavy eyelids trying to adjust her vision, as she took in her surroundings. She was in what appeared to be a hotel room, in a plush king-sized bed. She could hear the TV on in the adjoining room and could hear a man's voice speaking, followed by another male voice. She turned her head slowly, hissing slightly as a sudden ache throbbed through her head. The room had multiple vases full of flowers and on the pillow next to her, on the side of the bed that remained un-slept in, was a single bloom of the same flower that filled the vases; a white freesia.

_'__Freesia'_ her mind raced, _'why is that so familiar?'_ Her thoughts were interrupted as two men walked through the door to the adjoining room.

"Ah, you're awake Miss Gordon, hope we didn't disturb you?" said the shorter and older of the two men.

"No, no it were the sunlight actually," she said quietly. Her voice was hoarse and when she swallowed it felt like sandpaper. She closed her eyes in confusion and shook her head softly as she asked, "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

"No, Miss Gordon. This is the first time we have met. I'm Dr. MacLeod. I'm a private doctor who runs a very exclusive practice of mainly running house calls. I came here to the hotel at the request of your fiancée to check on your progress." He gestured to the bed, "May I?" At her small nod, he sat down on the bed facing her and flashed a light in her eyes. "Well your eyes are fine. If you could just turn your head towards me so I can check the stitches." He slowly unwrapped the gauze and carefully moved her hair. "Ahh luckily just below the hairline; it was more of a superficial wound but the bruising is definitely beginning to set in. You will have to avoid washing your hair and be very careful when washing your face for a few days, I'm afraid. Try to use a cloth gently around your cheeks and forehead and avoid this area," he circled around the wound, "all together just in case you get the stitches wet."

"When will they come out?" she asked.

"I would say in a few days. Like I said it was a superficial wound mostly; there was quite a bit of blood but that's a combination of both where the wound is and how long it took for you to get to the hospital, as opposed to it being because of the depth of the wound. But you gave yourself quite a hit there. It's no wonder you're having some trouble remembering things." He said, and she noted the kindness in his voice. "Any pain?" he asked as he stood up and helped her to prop her into a seated position.

"Oh, just a…lot." She replied a bit surprised at her humour. The doctor gave a small laugh.

"I'll prescribe you some painkillers to take for the next couple of days." He turned to look at the other man in the room, the one she recognized from the hospital. "There's a chemist's not too far from here, Mr. Barlow," he informed him, "the concierge should be able to provide you with the directions."

_'__Barlow'_, she thought. _'Why is that name familiar?'_ The doctor watched her as confusion spread across her features.

"Miss Gordon, I want you to think of your mind like an elastic band. It is incredibly pliable, but if you add too much force, it simply" he snapped his fingers "snaps. There are many theories in the medical world as to what causes amnesia. Other than the obvious physical cause in this case - the injury to the head - I personally believe that dissociative amnesia is the body's way of trying to heal itself. It makes a clean slate if you will of certain parts of your brain, so that it is able to repair any damage sustained to it. Once it has achieved this, your memory will come back."

She nodded her agreement, though the thought of simply "waiting" for her memory to come back frustrated her to no end.

"Type A personality, Miss Gordon?" the doctor seemed to read her thoughts.

"That's an understatement if I've ever heard one." Frank stated with a smirk, and the doctor chuckled.

"Well, if all goes well, you'll begin to remember things in pieces; déjà vu may set in; little things could trigger a memory, and then one day it could just all come flooding back. Just try not to force them to come quicker because you may prolong the amnesia further. Doctor's orders!"

She nodded her agreement as a frown graced her face. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow." Dr. MacLeod stated and he reached out and touched her shoulder, feeling her flinch beneath him. He curiously rose an eyebrow at the movement.

"I'll see you out." Frank stated.

"Mr. Barlow, has Miss Gordon experienced any type of traumatic experience recently?" Dr. MacLeod asked Frank as they stood at the door.

Frank looked uncomfortable for a moment, before he placed his hands in his pockets. "Yes, uhhh, yes unfortunately she has," he swiveled his body to look back to where Carla was on the bed, before turning back to the doctor, his voice low so she couldn't hear. "She was attacked a few months ago, you know…_attacked_."

The doctor nodded his understanding, "well, it's possible that this bout of amnesia may be more about her subconsciously trying to repress those memories, than the injury itself. I recommend you keep her as comfortable as possible, and ummm, maybe refrain from anything _intimate-wise_ that may trigger memories of the assault, if you know what I mean, don't hold onto her hands or wrists too tightly, try not to be too aggressive for lack of a better word. Her current state is quite fragile, and doing so could potentially cause further irreparable damage." Frank nodded his agreement as he opened the door for the doctor.

"Oh Doctor?" He asked as Dr. MacLeod stepped into the hallway, "How did you know she had a traumatic experience?"

"She flinched, Mr. Barlow. When I put my hand on her shoulder just now. There was no rhyme or reason as to why, as she was fine with me before, but she flinched…and it was involuntary." Frank looked down to hide his apprehension; a move that did not go unnoticed by the doctor. "Keep me posted should there be a sudden change in her demeanor." He looked inquisitively at Frank, before walking away.

Frank closed the door, and stood there for a moment, before he finally turned back and walked to Carla who was attempting to get out of bed,

"Whoa whoa hey there Cinderella, where do you think you're going?" he jogged around the bed, carefully placing his hands around her shoulders and began easing her back down onto the bed.

'Cinderella' her mind raced as images flashed before her eyes.

_"__What's the matter?"_

_"__I've lost my flamin' flat keys," she said as she dug through her purse_

_"__Okay, fine, I've got a sofa bed at mine, you can stay there tonight, it's very comfy. Come on-" _

_"__I'm sure it is, but that's okay I'll get a hotel thank you." Her feet were unsteady as she pushed herself away from the pole behind her and walked away from the man in front of her. She didn't get far before his hands grasped her upper arms and began pulling her back._

_"__Yeah a hotel, complete with a hotel bar, just what you need right now" the sarcasm evident in his voice along with worry._

_"__Oh fine whatever." She relented, unable to shrug him off and too dizzy to figure out which direction was where she wanted to go._

_"__Let's just umm, park yourself on this bench – "_

_"__Easy" she squeaked, his grasp a little tight on her arms,_

_ "__-right here Cinderella, and I will get the car. Just stay there." His voice took on a more gentle tone, "Carla, just stay there will you?"_

_"__mmm I'll stay here." She repeated as she swayed._

"Carla?" his voice snapped her out of her flashback. He was now crouched in front of her a look of worry washed over his features as her eyes finally met his.

"Cinderella," She whispered, her voice shaky, "you've called me that before."

Frank dropped his head in frustration, silently berating himself for being careless, before thinking quickly on his feet.

"That's right. That was my pet name for you." He laughed as he raised his gaze back to hers. "I forgot that you don't like it much, I'll try to remember not to call you that in the future."

"No umm it's okay." She gave him a small smile and his heart fluttered. He hadn't seen her smile at him like that since before their engagement party. "I ummm, need to go to the washroom…" she said, lowering her eyes as her tone became slightly embarrassed.

He smiled up at her, using his finger and thumb to caress her chin, "alright, lean on me, then,"

He helped her to a standing position, steadying her as she swayed slightly. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her in close to his body as they walked to the bathroom. Once inside, and confident she would be fine on her own, he gave her some privacy.

Stepping away from the bathroom door, he headed over to the large windows, pulling back the curtains slightly to reveal a stunning view of Edinburgh Castle.

He smiled. He knew they couldn't stay in Scotland forever.

He needed to be back in Weatherfield by Friday for his bail signing at the station. But staying at this exclusive hotel would guarantee their privacy would be ensured until he could get her to their final destination.

Her having amnesia just provided the perfect icing on the cake for him: he would be able to dote on her without her being distracted by thoughts of Peter Barlow. As she recovered, he would ensure he had her total trust. She was definitely in a more submissive state than she'd ever been, and it might give him the opportunity to exploit that; to mold her into the image of his perfect fiancee that he always saw her as.

She would learn to love him again.

He turned when he heard the door click open, and he walked towards her and held out his hand for her to grasp.

"Look let's get you back under those covers, and order you up some breakfast okay?" he smiled at her, "and then I'll head out to the chemist and get you those tablets."

"Okay." She responded as they approached the bed. He lifted her feet and helped her to swivel around, before placing the blankets back over her. When she was settled he ran his hand over her hair, leaned in and kissed the top of her head. He moved away from her briefly before handing her the remote for the TV. After she accepted it, he moved to the desk where he picked up the phone to order them both breakfast.

Holding the phone to his ear, he turned slightly and looked at her as she mindlessly surfed through the channels.

She was slowly becoming his again.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm absolutely floored by the response to this story so far. It has encouraged me to simply sit and write until I have a completed chapter. I'm hoping to do the same with _My Heart Bleeds_ and _A Casual Arrangement,_ next. **

** Thank you all so very much.**

* * *

"Any news yet 'Chelle?" Becky asked as she slumped into the booth at the Rovers beside Maria.

Michelle was pale, having not slept the night before; makeup did not grace her features and the puffiness around her eyes made it was obvious she had been crying. "The boys got into Glasgow late last night, only to discover that Frank had taken Carla to a hospital in Edinburgh, so they waited until this afternoon until all the forensics were done at my cousin's place, traded in their rental car for a van, picked up Aidan and have headed back to Edinburgh." Michelle took a sip of wine, "they don't know the full extent of her injuries, yet, except that she might be suffering from amnesia from a blow to the head, and that she was discharged into Foster's care under the name _Barlow_..."

"What? She can't remember anything?" Maria asked horrified

Michelle shook her head, "worst of all she can't remember him." She sighed as she put her glass back down and rubbed her fingers across her forehead, "There's been no news from DC Malone; she doesn't know about Carla being in Edinburgh or her amnesia yet, which Peter reckons is a good thing. He didn't want us to put out a video message for a missing person since it might spook Foster into jumping to Ireland or Wales and will delay the whole process of finding them. I fear if Malone knew the extent of Carla's injuries she might press forward with that and we might lose her for good..."

"Look, I don't want to sound like I'm defending him cause I'm not," Leanne started, "but I don't think Frank is going to try to, you know, kill her...and I really don't think he wants to hurt her, either. I think he loves her, or at least he thinks he does, in a twisted way really."

"So what do you think he wants with her then?" Becky asked her eyebrow raising.

"Well to be honest, I think he wants _her_. I think he might be borderline obsessed with her! I mean the way he bought into the business, proposed so quick, and planned the wedding, and pushed her into wanting to buy a house…it's like he wanted this picture perfect life with her. And now that she's got no memory of him, I reckon he's going to try to achieve that with her now; without memories of her past, or Peter..." she shuddered as she choked on her next words, "or what he did to her..."

"Tony wanted that an' all with her too." Maria interjected. "You know the whole, 'picture perfect life'. One that had no obstacles in the way...like Liam..." Maria took a sip of her wine before placing her glass back down, her fingers nervously tapping the table, "you know that night I convinced her to move in with me for a bit, to get her away from where_ it_ happened for a while, Carla and I really opened up to each other about the whole Tony mess. She thought this whole thing with Frank was her karma; for not turning Tony in when he confessed; for running away and putting me in harm's way with him," Maria shook her head as she remembered the conversation, "I tried to tell her that it wasn't. That she weren't to know what would have happened between me and him, but she wouldn't believe it. She said that she'll never forgive herself for being scared and legging it; but that's what she was in the end: scared. Just before he confessed that he had Liam killed, he told her he would never hurt a hair on her head. He may have believed that at the time, but she didn't, and that's why she fled to L.A.; Knowing what he did a year later in the factory, it turned out her gut was right, weren't it?" Maria mumbled taking another sip of her drink.

"And her gut was right about Frank an' all." Michelle said sadly. "At least, towards the end of their relationship, that is. The night of their engagement dinner with his parents, she said he was getting really controlling….almost suffocating her with his plans of having kids and so on…she started to panic and she started kickin' back the booze. He got rough with her, dragging her over to have a 'word'. She said the look in his eyes scared her that night. And all she wanted was to get away from him as fast as she could."

Leanne was silent listening to this new revelation. 'So t_hat's why she got in the car to drive away,'_ she realized, _'she was scared of him. Not that that excuses her nearly killing someone,' _Leanne thought, but it gave her a better understanding of what had happened. Carla didn't just get into the car to drive because she was a selfish drunk; she did it because she was terrified. A new wave of guilt washed over her, remembering the horrible things she said to Carla the night the broken woman tried to kill herself.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Frank's workforce entering the pub led by Sally.

"Great job today girls! Mr. Foster will be thrilled when he comes back." Her voice irritatingly high. She looked over and saw Becky.

"Uhh excuse me lady, and just where were you today?" she inquired as she stood in front of her, pointedly ignoring the other three in the booth.

Becky swiveled slightly to face her, bending her knee and drawing her foot underneath her. "Oh that, yeah, you see here's the thing Sal: I uhhh ignored my principles and decided to work for an alleged rapist because I really needed the job you see, but ummm I can't really shake me morals anymore...so uh, yeah I quit." She said as she shrugged.

"Oh and you're just going to find another job that easily eh?" Sally pestered.

"Oh she doesn't need to love, she can come back to work for Underworld as a machinist." Michelle said bluntly, her anger rising to fever pitch.

"Seriously?" Becky asked, a smile tugging at her lips

"Of course. You can start tomorrow if you like."

"Yeah, alright," Becky nodded, "Cheers, Michelle,"

"Yeah, well, that's fine if you want to side with the competition, but I wouldn't be celebrating just yet! Underworld is gonna need all the help they can get, because soon enough Frank is going to shut Carla down," Sally said as she smirked and crossed her arms over her chest, "both business-wise and in court!"

Kevin, who was standing near the bar interjected, "Sal, trust me, just drop it eh?"

"Why should I?" Sally stated. "Carla is a liar. A hard faced cow, who uses men and spits them out whenever it suits her to do so…"

"Look, I'm warning you Webster…" Michelle warned her.

"Ask Maria! It wasn't so long ago that you couldn't stand the sight of her." Sally stated as the punters began quieting their voices to listen.

"Don't forget your role in that drama Sally." Maria warned. "And Carla and I have long since put that behind us. I may not have agreed with what she did but she loved Liam, and he loved her an' all. He loved us both and we both loved him and that is stronger than whatever poison you try to spur on."

"Look will someone get 'er outta my face before I do sommit_ I won't_ regret?" Michelle ground out, her eyes closing and raising her hand as if readying it to backhand Sally.

"What? You'll take me to court for telling the truth?" Sally sniped, "Oh no wait that's more your sister-in-law's style isn't it."

"That's it!" Michelle yelled as she pushed herself out of her seated position. Her arm began to swing in Sally's direction but Becky and Leanne took a quick hold of her, while Kevin grabbed Sally angrily and spun her around to face him.

"Whoa whoa whoa, eaaaasy there, Rocky! She's not worth it love." Becky said reassuringly to Michelle, who stood fuming, staring daggers into the back of Sally's head as she shrugged out of Kevin's grip.

"Get your hands off of me, Kevin!"

"Sal, I told you already just drop it, yeah?"

"Oh why should I?"

"Because Sal! We're all more than sure that Frank has followed Carla out to Scotland, alright?"

"Oh please, Kevin! That's just ridiculous! She's just making up more lies to stitch him up!"

"No, Sally. He left a message with Michelle's cousin where Carla was staying, saying he was Peter…now who else would have done that eh? Especially as Peter was standing next to us, when Carla called Leanne? We all heard her struggling with someone through the phone, before the line went dead! And now, no one knows where she is, so do yourself a favour and just keep your bloody mouth shut!" Kevin ground out.

"That's impossible," Sally retorted, "Frank is in France on a business trip."

"He's been charged with rape ,Sally!" Maria's voice boomed from behind her.

"And he was released on bail." Sally snapped back, spinning to face her.

"Yeah, on _bail_. What happens to someone's traveling privileges when they've been charged with a felony Sally?" Michelle asked as she angrily strode towards her, "'Cause we were told _exactly _what his restrictions were: must not approach Carla in any way, shape or form; must remain within a 100 mile radius of his home; must check in with the police at the station once a week; oh and most importantly, **_must not leave the bloody country_**! So a business trip to France? Around the same time Carla happens to be in Scotland? A place where he can get in and out of with no border checks? And you actually believed that he were going to France? _Really_?" As realization dawned on Sally, Michelle leaned in close to her, "you really are just a stupid, vindictive cow aren't you?" Michelle stated through gritted teeth.

"Bu-bu-but here's what I don't understand," Norris asked no one in particular. "How would Frank know that Carla went to Scotland?"

"Oh no," Eileen whispered at the bar as she buried her head in her hands.

"What?" Leanne asked.

"Lloyd overheard you Michelle, talking to Peter and Ciaran about it here at the pub the other day." Eileen said quietly, the guilt evident in her voice, "He mentioned it to me in passing at Streetcars, and I mentioned it to Becky and Beth at the factory. Frank was checking over our work nearby. He must've overheard. Oh God, Michelle I am so sorry."

Michelle grabbed her purse from the booth, before coming face to face with Eileen. "Well…at least now you will all have some more gossip to discuss now won't you?" she spat maliciously, "Hey, maybe you can all take bets on where he plans on dumping her body!" Her voice choked as tears streamed down her cheeks, and she stormed out of the pub, with Maria hot on her heels.

"Oi, Webster!" Becky called as she rose from the booth with Leanne. Sally turned to look at her, "You know life will continue to present many an opportunity in which to keep your mouth shut…maybe you should start taking advantage of 'em eh?"

When Sally failed to reply, Becky leaned in and lightly slapped her cheek twice, "See? You're getting there already!" And she and Leanne walked out of the Rovers.

"I'm just going to head to the ladies for a minute," Sally said, her earlier bravado now deflated as she began to doubt the stories Frank had spun her, "back in a tick..."

Entering the washroom she locked herself into a stall and leaned her back against it, exhaling a shuddering breath. She pulled out her cell phone and scrolled down to Frank's name, her finger hovering over it for a split second before she began furiously typing a message...

* * *

A loud knock startled her out of her dreamless sleep. Her eyes fluttered open in time to hear Frank open the door and a man wheel in a cart with their dinner order.

"Thank you my good man." Frank said as he slipped him a tip. He turned to face Carla, "Alright, now you get yourself comfortable and I'll bring you a plate."

"No," she started, her voice still hoarse, "I'd prefer to sit at the table if that's okay? I'm getting a little antsy being in bed all this time."

Frank gave a chuckle, "I see you haven't lost your impatient nature. Here let me help you over." He moved to stand next to her, reaching an arm around her back and under her far arm; his fingers grazing the side of her breast before resting on her rib cage. His other arm threw the blankets off her small frame before coming to rest on her shoulder. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and leaned into him as he helped her to a standing position.

Her head was close to his, and she suddenly felt her stomach turn. Her eyes flitted up and gazed at the man next to her. She wasn't sure why her stomach kept doing that whenever he touched her or looked deeply into her eyes, but it was deeply unsettling. His eyes moved to look at her and she quickly looked away before they could meet, and she continued walking towards the table, leaning into him slightly when she felt herself becoming dizzy.

His fingers gently massaged her shoulder as he helped her to sit down, before gently laying a kiss on top of her head. She felt a shudder course involuntarily through her body.

Something about him was definitely setting off warning bells…

"I figured since you slept through lunch, that I'd order large enough spread for you to choose from."

"You spare no expense, do you Peter?" She quipped as he poured her a glass of orange juice.

"Frank, please." He corrected her. It was an involuntary response and he chastised himself for making the mistake. But the thought of her calling him by her 'love of her life's' name caused his anger to rise within him. He took a deep breath, his mind moving quickly to correct his error in the calmest way possible. He couldn't risk lashing out; not when he was so close to getting what he wanted.

"Oh, I'm sorry, but the nurse specifically said your name was Peter as I was being discharged." She raised her eyebrow inquisitively.

"Yes, I am sorry about the confusion, but I had to lie about my name."

Her curiosity was piqued. "And why would you do that?"

"I wanted to ensure your ex-boyfriend wouldn't find you if he came looking. So I used the first one that popped into my head. Here, allow me to introduce myself again my dear, I'm Frank Foster, your doting fiancée." He stuck out his hand for her to shake and flashed her a winning smile.

_'Foster…'_ her mind raced trying to place the name. She tentatively shook his outstretched hand.

"Carla, apparently." He chuckled at her dry humour.

"Here you are," he stated handing her a plate of food and observing her. Even after the events of the past two days, her beauty seemed to light up the room. Her hair was unkempt, and the beautiful golden tan that she acquired in L.A., kissed her skin. Even in her disheveled state, she managed to stir his longing for her, and he felt his desire for her growing. He sat across from her and smiled, imagining what it would be like to hold her in the throes of passion once more.

Half an hour later, and she continued to toy with the pasta on her plate, before deciding instead to eat the slice of orange that garnished her glass.

"So this ex of mine is the cause of all of this?" she asked taking a bite out of the sweet fruit, effectively breaking the silence.

"Hmm mm" Frank uttered as he chewed on a forkful of steak. He swallowed and looked into her curious eyes. "He followed us out here, when he found out we stopped here for a business trip on the way back from L.A. He obviously waited until you were on your own. You two must have struggled; I made it back in time to see him running away and you on the floor unconscious."

"Why would he follow me out here?" She asked

"Because he's jealous. Upset that you chose me over him. He wants you back and I guess he feels that if he can't have you than neither can I." He feigned frustration and stood up, thrusting his hands into his pockets and effectively turning his back on her, smirking as he did so. He had his opportunity and he couldn't resist the chance to turn the screw. "Besides, its not the first time he's attacked you…"

"How'd you mean?" her voice was so small that he almost didn't recognize it. He turned to face her and eyed her before responding.

"He raped you Carla." He watched as her beautiful olive eyes brimmed with tears. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"What?" she choked out. He moved towards her and crouched down so that he was kneeling in front of her.

"It was about two months ago. God I didn't want you to find out so soon but I need you to understand that it's why I'm so protective over you, and why you're so uncomfortable around men right now, even me..." He said as he reached up and stroked her cheek. "He went to try to plead his way back into your life, you refused, telling him you loved me and were going to marry me, but he got angry. And when you asked him to leave he attacked you." He watched her face as she tried furiously to remember the event; tears of frustration making their way down her face. "That's why we went to L.A.; to get away from it all."

"Wh-what's his name?" her voice becoming firm.

"Carla, it's not going to help right now,"

"His name, Frank." Her voice was strong, but her eyes gave away her vulnerability, as they always did.

"Peter Barlow." He stated maliciously.

"But," she shook her head in confusion, "that's the name you used! Why-" she paused, looking off to the side before closing her eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked back to the man before her, "why would _you_ use _his_ name?"

"Because I was sure he wouldn't think that I would use his name. If he was going to start looking in hospitals for you, he certainly wouldn't be asking for his own name would he?"

"But he'd ask for mine..." She countered; _'Something doesn't add up'_ she thought.

"Your last name is not Gordon…it's Connor, Carla."

"Oh, but-" She breathed out. This was all too much to take in, and she leaned forward on the table squeezing the heels of her hands into her eyes. She felt his hand on her, gently rubbing small circles on her back.

"Look, this is too much for you right now. Let's just try to finish dinner. I'll answer any other questions you have, but that attack was so traumatizing to you the first time, my love, I can't bear to see you relieve it again." He reached his fingers under her chin and drew her face towards his so she was now looking into his eyes again. "Please, Carla?"

"Okay." She reluctantly agreed and gave a soft smile.

_'That smile will be my undoing,'_ he thought to himself. He gently leaned in and kissed her lips; he lingered there for a moment hoping she would respond but she pulled away, licking her lips as a flush spread along her cheeks,

"Sorry, I uhh, I -I can't-" she stuttered nervously,

"No, no, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I just couldn't resist..." he whispered, moving his hand gently through her hair and caressing her earlobe. He pulled back and looked into her eyes; his hand remained cupping her cheek and he wiped away the tears that fell down her face with his thumb. With a smile, he stood and went back to his seat, pleased that he was making inroads with her.

She continued to fiddle with her fingers as he ate dinner.

"Where's my ring?" she asked quite suddenly.

"Sorry?"

"My engagement ring? I don't seem to have one?" she raised her left hand to show him.

_'Shit...'_

His mind worked fast, thinking up a lie.

"It's gone. It was taken the night you were attacked. We were going to buy you a replacement out here. Maybe we'll head out in a few days when you're feeling up to it, yeah?" He answered, but she was distracted looking about the room.

"Do I not have a suitcase?" she asked, seeing only one opened and filled with men's clothes.

"The flight misplaced it on the way back from L.A."

"I seem to have all the luck don't I?" she grumbled leaning back into her chair and taking a bite of pasta.

"My, you are an inquisitive one today aren't you?" he laughed at her frustration.

"Must be in my nature-" she retorted before another wave of déjà vu hit her.

"Remind me not to play 20 questions with you." Frank continued, but she was no longer listening; images flashed in her mind as clear as if she was watching it on the television…

_"…You have been asking questions." His Scottish accent dripped with accusation._

_"Ahhh! Well you see I've got an inquisitive nature. If I had gone to high school in the states it would 'ave said that in my yearbook, 'girl most likely to ask questions'." She said her voice quivering a little as she tried to put on her strong act. _

_"I'm your husband." He said and she could feel the anger behind his words. _

_"Apparently so." She quipped; He wasn't the man she thought she knew._

_"So if you have anything, you want to know, come to me." He stated. The atmosphere in the factory had changed drastically; it now had a rather dangerous feel to it._

_"Well I will don't you worry." She said in an attempt to end the conversation. _

_"So come to me." He repeated and she felt a shudder flow through her body. Fear._

_He noticed it and moved slowly towards her, anger and frustration fueling his steps, "Why do I sense that you're scared? Why would you be scared of me?"_

_"I'm not." She didn't even convince herself with that one._

_He cocked his head to the side "I think you are." He said before darting his tongue across his top lip. _

_She nodded slowly, her eyes blinking as she tried to compose herself, "Now why would that be?"_

_He threw his arms up in frustration, "Another question!" he spat "at least this time you've asked me!"_

_"Maybe I've got a million different questions I wanna ask you." She clucked, her confidence coming back, but the look in his eyes frightened her. They darkened as they stared at her, realizing she knew…_

"Carla!" Frank was leaning over her, curiosity evident on his face. "What's wrong? What are you remembering?"

"I was married before?" she asked disbelievingly. Frank sighed, relief briefly sweeping his features.

"Yes. Twice actually. You're not going to rest until you know are you?" she shook her head as she stared into his eyes, and he sighed again before pulling his chair around next to her. He held her hands in his, "The first was a bloke from Manchester, where you're from, Paul Connor? You were married for 8 years or so, before he died in a car accident. Was that who you remembered?"

"I-I don't think so..." she shook her head again "he had an accent..."

"Scottish?" she nodded and he continued, "yeah, that was your second husband: Tony Gordon. He died in an explosion at a factory."

"I was scared of him." She said looking down to the floor as confusion etched across her features. "Why was I scared of him?" She asked as her eyes met his again.

"I don't know sweetheart. It's not a relationship that you divulged much information to me about." He decided he needed to change the subject fast before she broached another question he may not be able to lie himself out of. "How about we finish dinner, I get you back under the covers, and then I'll pop out and pick up your prescription. It should be ready by now..."

She watched as he rose from his chair and pushed it back to the other side of the table, before sitting back down and digging into his steak.

She didn't know why, but she felt he was lying to her. That or he wasn't being completely honest.

No. The truth lay somewhere in the questions that were muddled in her mind.

She needed to draw them out. Somehow she needed to remember who she was. She was starting to have this uncomfortable feeling that her life depended on it…

Frank watched her for a moment as she began to pick at her dinner again, noticing the frustration that flashed across her features. He may have skewered her memories of Peter - for now, anyway - but talking about Tony would bring about the memories of the one person who could bring all her memories crashing back.

_Liam Connor._

And once memories of Liam came back, so to would the truth about Peter.

The two men he couldn't hold a candle too. The two loves of her life...

The one from her past, and the one very much in her present...

He felt his phone vibrate, and pulled it out, sighing as he saw it was a message from Sally.

"I have to take this, won't be a minute," he said as he stood up and walked to the window to read the message, ensuring he kept his back to her.

**From: Sally Webster**

**5:56PM**

**Frank,**

**I know you're not in France! **

**Where the hell are you? **

**Carla's gone missing in Scotland and everyone believes you're the one behind it!**

**Message me back, immediately!**

**Sally**

_'Damn...' _he thought. He berated himself for not expecting news to travel quite that quickly. Knowing Peter, he was probably already out here, scouring the streets of Glasgow looking for her. It would only be a matter of time before he figured out they were in Edinburgh, if he hadn't already...

He would need to come up with another plan and quick.

He remained with his back to Carla, but could still feel her eyes as they bore into him.

He was starting to lose his control over her, he could feel it. At the rate she was asking questions, she'd have her memory back by the week's end.

He had to draw her back under his power again. And the only way to do that was to manipulate her insecurities as he had done so many months prior…


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh, nice choice," Frank said as Carla stepped out of the washroom in a fresh set of satin pajamas that he had purchased for her. She smiled in acknowledgement at his compliment and leaned on him gingerly as she walked back to the bed, "the boutiques near here were closing by the time I made it down there," he continued on, "but I did manage to buy enough items for you to cope with until we sort out your lost luggage, along with some knickers and bras for you to decide between." Frank stated, as he helped her back into the bed, as he gestured to the clothes he had set out on the side dressing table.

Just after dinner, she had gone incredibly quiet, telling him that she was suffering from a splitting headache, and so he helped her into bed, handing her with the last of the painkillers provided by the hospital, and it was where she slept until the better part of the night. He decided to take advantage of her downtime and headed to the boutiques that resided around the hotel on the way to the chemist's. It was easy to shop for her, since he knew her size, and it gave him the chance to pick out a few choice items that he desired to see her in. It was now 12:00 AM and she had awoken about an hour earlier, and managed to get a bit more food in her stomach, before he showed her some of his purchases, grinning to himself at her relief at being able to change out of the clothes she had been in for the past two days.

"I also bought you a small suitcase so we can move them all easier when we check out in a day or so...oh, and I filled the prescription for your painkillers as well." He stated dropping the small paper bag on the bedside table. "In fact, I think we better get you to take another couple of these; the rest seems to be doing you a world of good," he reached out and stroked her hair lovingly

"Yeah, maybe that's a good idea," she agreed, as she accepted the pills he handed to her, along with the glass of water

He sat on the side of the bed so he was facing her, watching as she lowered the glass of water, and licking her lips to capture any drops that lingered there. He couldn't help but take her in as she lay propped up against the pillows, and when her eyes locked on his, he felt his stomach flip, just as it had done the first time he laid eyes on her...

"What is it?" she asked apprehensively,

"You are just….stunning, Carla. Do you know that? Absolutely stunning." He breathed out genuinely.

She felt her cheeks burn red as a blush rose across them and she couldn't stop the smile that graced her features. "How do you do that?" She asked glancing down,

"Do what?" he asked curiously.

"Look at me as though you haven't seen me every day since we met?" she quietly asked.

He simply smiled, "You just amaze me. No matter what life throws at you, you just carry on, looking as gorgeous as ever." He was remembering a few days in particular, none of which he could voice out loud.

The first was when she cowered from him in the factory, slowly inching her way to the door as he pressured her to drop the charges; the tears streaming down her face, the way she held her chin up in defiance; he was overwhelmed with the desire to simply hold her and take away her pain, while simultaneously wanting to overpower her once more and break her into submissiveness once and for all.

The other was when she confronted him at his house after he took 40% of the machines and material from Underworld. She had stood in front of him, gorgeous, defiant, and angry; arms across her chest as if to shield herself from his eyes; but what she did was entrance him further. He overcame the urge to throw her onto the floor and ravish her again. Had Maria and his mother not been there, he wasn't sure he would have been able to stop himself.

"Have there been many?" she asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"When your mum died, that was a big one." He responded, knowing it was a wound he could manipulate as he did the first time.

"Me mum's died?" she asked softly.

"Yeah. She died quite suddenly, and you weren't expecting it. You two weren't overly close, but you were still quite shaken with the news. It was the first time you really opened up to me." He said leaning forward and cupping her cheek with his palm as he observed her.

_"…I told her it didn't work out. I didn't tell her that you've been acting weird all day, and that your weird behaviour has cost us, ooh, a hundred thousand pound turnover – " She gave a short derisive laugh but he continued, "What's going on?"_

_"My mum's died." She answered without hesitation and she saw his stance soften slightly. "Anyway, a hundred grand Frank? Come on you saw her figures! There was more comedy in them than in a Jim Davison routine."_

_His expression was one of complete shock and concern as he carefully approached her, "Your mum?" he started._

_"Mind you that's not saying much is it?" she tried to keep the subject changed as tears welled in her eyes again, "Come on Frank you saw them, she was taking the mick-"_

_"Carla?" he asked firmly, "Your mum's died?"_

_She couldn't push down the emotions anymore, but she tried to look away to hide the tears that threatened to fall, "my brother's been phoning saying she were poorly an' that, but" she swallowed the lump in her throat, didn't realize how serious it was." He simply looked at her, sympathy written all over his features. "Do now, don't I?" she sniffled and began to make her way past him "it's too late."_

She looked back at him. She remembered the hug he gave her that day, completely enveloping her and trying to take her pain away. She gave him a soft smile.

"Are you remembering anything?" he asked tentatively

"Bits..." she responded, "you supported me that day, the day I found out. You were there for me..." She stated softly.

He leaned forward, "and I will be, for the rest of our lives." He smiled back, as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, "now will you please relax? The point of these," he raised the bottle of pills up and gave them a shake, "is to allow your body to rest as it heals itself."

She laid her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes, breathing in the aroma of lavender on the material and sighing in contentment.

For the first time in the last couple of days, she finally felt at ease.

And moving to the chair near the window just across from her, Frank was beginning to feel confident again…

...until his mobile rang moments later...

He moved himself into the adjoining suite, trying to keep his voice down as much as possible as he spoke to the agitated man on the other line,

"Well it's not my problem George that you haven't been able to reach me; I left my new number with that incompetent secretary of yours last week." He gritted out. He gave a deep sigh, his head falling forwards as he ran his tongue over his teeth. "Well what does that have to do with me? Clearly it must be 'loverboy' who's involved! This is ridiculous. Ughh, fine! Look, I can't cancel my meeting now, but I'll be there tomorrow in the early afternoon. Yes, of course I'm within 100 miles of Weatherfield, George! I explained this to you in my message last week! Yes, I will ring you as soon as I arrive back. Yes, goodbye."

Frank angrily ended the call on the mobile. The last thing he needed right now was a lecture from his solicitor. He wasn't due to be at the station for his bail signing until Friday and he now had to jeopardize everything because Peter Barlow had figured things out too quickly. He glanced over his shoulder to the hotel bed where Carla was eyeing him carefully.

He was out of her earshot, but she could tell by his body language that something the other person had said on the phone had angered him. He fixed her with his dark stare and she could feel herself shrink further beneath the duvet under his gaze.

_'This is all her fault,'_ he thought angrily as stared at her, _'had she not been two-timing me with that alcoholic bookie, I wouldn't have lashed out and we wouldn't be in this mess.'_ He felt the rage, that he promised himself only yesterday that he would try to contain, slowly pulsing through his veins...

* * *

Peter breathed in the night air, frustration surrounding him like a thick blanket.

They had been searching for Carla non-stop since their arrival in Scotland the night before; and it felt as if they had hit every possible hotel between Glasgow and Edinburgh, each with the same response: "no we haven't seen them," and "we'll keep an eye out, though." After another equally exhausting day, they finally made it back to the hotel they had deliberately booked into on the outskirts of Edinburgh's city centre. They wanted to avoid potentially being seen by Foster before they found him first. They all needed some energy and some rest before starting in on the hotels in the city itself again at dawn, but Peter was restless - as he had been since the moment Leanne burst into the pub in Weatherfield - and he needed some time to himself, so he had stepped out onto the room's balcony.

He opened his phone, glancing at the time. _12:30 a.m._ He angrily shut it and put it back in his pocket, knowing that he once again wasn't going to get a wink of sleep, and instead began fiddling around for his pack of fags.

Placing one in his mouth, he paused to look up to the sky. The stars shining brightly down on the city below, and the crescent moon was so close he felt he could almost reach out and touch it. As he lit the cigarette, taking in the first full drag, his eyes peering back up at the glittering specks that lined the night sky, his thoughts drifted to Carla, as they always seemed to do...

_"__Oh I'll just stand here like a lemon then shall I?" She huffed sarcastically_

_"__Well mix it up a bit, stand there like a lime then!" he retorted back before giving her a winning grin._

He smiled fondly as yet another memory of Carla overtook his thoughts.

_"__What are you havin' for your first dance?" She asked as she leaned against the pub watching as he took a drag from his cigarette._

_"__Ah well we're divided on that one: Lea wants 'Angels' by Robbie Williams-" he gave her a look that just screamed 'I know, right?'_

_"__Oh bit obvious in'it?" She scrunched her nose at the song choice._

_"__And I'm gunning for Sinatra, you know something with a bit of swagger."_

_"__Fly me to the moon…" She sang softly as a huge smile broke about her face._

_"__Well I once had a mate in the navy who did it to a bird he saw, made everyone join in."_

_"__Ugh some people!" she scoffed, but never losing her smile_

_He looked up to the night sky, "Fly me to the moon though: now there's a song"_

Without even thinking, he began to whistle the tune as he had that night; he could almost hear her voice singing along, pausing to ask him what the lyrics were that followed, and his voice as he began to sing "let me see what spring is like" she instantly remembered them and sang along, "on Jupiter and Mars"; and her laugh. He remembered her laugh that night: It was a laugh that pulled at his heartstrings, even though he didn't realize why at the time.

Smiling he looked down and took another drag of his cigarette. He felt a hand on his back.

"Brought you a glass of orange juice." Ciaran said, as he handed him the tumbler.

"Cheers mate." Peter said as he took another drag of his cigarette.

"I don't think you're supposed to smoke out here..."

"I won't tell if you won't," Peter winked at him before becoming serious, "I had to smoke out here because I knew that if I went down to the street to smoke, I would've started walking, and walking...until I walked into every hotel in the city before I either found her or went mad," he glanced to his friend who smiled sympathetically at him, "but I know you all are right and we need a few hours to re-charge; so I figured it best to break the rules and smoke out here..."

Ciaran nodded and leaned his elbows on the railing "I just spoke to Michelle. She's still beside herself with worry about this whole situation. Malone and the other copper haven't a clue we're out here yet, or that Carla was admitted to hospital which buys us some time but Michelle's worried about when they decide to put out a missing person's video message. And to make matters worse, apparently, her mum and dad are arriving tomorrow from Ireland to help her with the wedding plans. She's dreading it since she hasn't told them about Carla yet..." he looked to Peter, "about any of it - her attack, her going missing...Aidan had to tell his father Johnny about it; and only because the police contacted him about the break-in at Aidan's as he has a key and they wanted to rule out anyone who might have had access. Apparently Johnny's going to be heading to Weatherfield now as well. He's taken this news about Carla quite hard; I mean he's known her since she were a kid after all, but Aidan still finds it a bit strange. Anyways, Maria and Liam will be staying at Carla's flat with Michelle, offering Helen, Barry and Johnny her flat in the meantime. I hope for Helen's sake she lays off the Carla bashing or Michelle might just snap."

"Well maybe that's what that Helen needs eh? To be put in her place by her own daughter." Peter whispered under his breath. At Ciaran's raised eyebrow he continued, "Leanne told me some of the stuff she'd say to Carla; blaming her for both Paul's death and Liam's. It's no wonder the poor woman clung to anyone that showed her affection. She's been pushed down so many times; she doesn't believe anyone could actually truly love her."

"Well from the stories I heard I'd say Liam loved her." Ciaran replied.

Peter shrugged and nodded, not overly comfortable talking about Carla's past love, "I'd say he did, yeah. But he played some mind games with her as well. Maybe it were because they grew up together and they were used to winding each other up instead of being honest about how they felt, but he pushed her away when she made herself vulnerable to him after Paul had died and they had gotten closer; and it broke her heart..." he took a drag of his cigarette, "and then she pushed him away when he realized she was going through with marrying Tony, and it were only then that he realized just how much he loved her: when he thought he was going to lose her to Tony for good. But by that point, the web they both weaved trying to pretend they didn't love each other became too messy. Too many people were stuck in it; too many people would get hurt, and she knew it and couldn't bring herself to do it to them, or herself if it went up in smoke. It was too late. And when he died, she built those walls up around her heart. Not allowing anyone to get in close enough to love her, and then leave again." He spat out bitterly

"So when did you realize _you_ loved her, then?" his friend asked pointedly. Peter looked at him sadly, taking another drag of his cigarette, the smoke billowing above his head.

"When I thought I lost her." He answered quietly.

"When she overdosed?"

"No. That just solidified it. It was the day Frank proposed to her in the pub. I felt my heart sink, and when she turned him down, I felt relief. And that's when I knew-," he flicked the cigarette off the balcony angrily, "-that's when I knew I was head over heels for her, and I had to suppress those feelings, and the best way for me to do that was to push her into marrying Frank."

"You didn't…"

"Yeah," he looked off shaking his head, "I wanted so hard to bury my feelings that I thought if she married Frank, we'd both move on. I knew he was a controlling prat, but I pushed it out of my mind. And I knew she were vulnerable, an' all. I'll never forgive myself for that." His eyes began filling with tears. Ciaran placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Peter, Frank is a rapist. He's a man who loves control. Let's say she didn't agree to his proposal, do you think he would've walked away that easily? No. You and I know that some blokes just don't take no for an answer."

"I just," Peter let out a sigh of frustration, "I just have to find her Ciaran. I need to hold her in my arms and know that she's okay. I won't be able to rest until I do."

"And we will. I mean it Peter! We will find her, just have a little faith."

Ciaran rested his elbows back on the railing and the two looked out into the distance.

* * *

Frank stood by the concierge desk, awaiting for the man he had called from the payphone in the lobby to arrive. He tapped his fingers on the marble counter top, his eyes carefully eyeing his surroundings.

The hotel lobby was practically deserted, save for one couple that were practically sucking each other's faces off on one of the sofas. He couldn't fault them, not really. After all, he had been all over Carla on their trip to Rome...

...back when everything was perfect...

He thought about her now as she lay upstairs, tucked safely away under the duvet and surrounded by pillows to prevent her from rolling onto her side and dislodging the stitches; fast asleep and oblivious to his whereabouts thanks to the meds she had taken.

After his phone call to George, he had to remove himself from the adjoining suite for a few minutes; locking himself in the washroom and forcing himself to calm down before his rage took over and he lashed out at her. The look in her eyes - pure fear and confusion - as she peered over the duvet at him was what had brought him back from the brink.

In the washroom he turned on the faucet at the sink to offset any chance of her overhearing anything, and sent a cryptic text to one of his contacts. Receiving an answer back almost immediately, with just a phone number the words **P. MacKenzie **

With a sigh of relief, feeling he was starting to take back some of the control he had been losing over the situation, he had turned off the taps, and stepped back into the room.

Carla had remained where he had left her, snuggled down in the blankets and eyeing him carefully as he offered her an apologetic smile and sat on the opposite side of the bed so as not to frighten her further.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he whispered, "I just had a bad phone call."

"Is everything okay?" she asked quietly, as that niggling feeling in her gut came back with a vengeance.

"Not really, no, but it's nothing I can't handle. Nothing for you to be worried about, I promise."

"Okay..." she nodded, not quite believing him

He shifted his body further onto the mattress and lay on his side facing her, watching as her eyes widened in apprehension at his movements. He offered her another apologetic smile and brushed her cheek delicately with the back of his fingers, "I'm sorry I frightened you," he exhaled deeply, "I would never do anything to hurt you, Carla I hope you know that?"

She lowered her eyes from his intense gaze, "I don't know much of anything right now, Frank," she said back, "my mind is a jumbled mess of images and voices and I can't figure out any of them, let alone the emotions I'm feeling."

"It must be incredibly overwhelming for you," he said, his finger running gently through her hair, "I wish I could take the pain away..." he whispered, "...all of it..."

He watched as she nodded softly, her eyelids drooping as he continued to caress her hair. He stayed next to her until she fell into a deep slumber, before making his move. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, smiling as she mumbled irritably, as she always did when he laid such affections on her in her sleep, and then he carefully removed himself from the bed and, grabbing the room key and his mobile, he headed down to the lobby to call this P. MacKenzie.

"Foster?" a hushed voice called him out of his reverie, and he found himself facing a tall and lean, but muscular man with short dark hair and a trimmed beard standing before him

"MacKenzie, I presume?" Frank reached his hand out, finding it accepted in a firm handshake

"You presume correctly," the man looked around briefly, "shall we take a seat here?"

"Yes, please," Frank gestured towards the two armchairs by the fireplace, "I don't have long as I need to be getting back to my fiancee," he stated as he sat down, "but I do appreciate you meeting me at this ungodly hour."

The man chuckled as he too sat down, "it's one of the less dangerous hazards of being a hired bodyguard," he stated, "who referred you?"

"Fitzgerald,"

"Ahh," he nodded, "you're from Manchester area then?"

"Yes, I live in Didsbury myself, and my fiancee was born and raised around there. Fitzgerald and I met when we were in university together," Frank explained, "are you familiar with the area?"

"A little..." Mackenzie replied stoically

"Well, if you are hired, we won't be heading back to that area; I won't go into details, but essentially my fiancee was physically assaulted days ago and she's lost most of her memory. She can't remember who she is or who I am, but worse than that, she can't remember that the man she got into an altercation with is her ex. And that's who I need to protect her from. I can do this on my own of course, but unfortunately I have been called back to Manchester for an urgent matter tomorrow afternoon, and that is why I need someone to watch over her here while she recovers from her injuries and, if all goes well, help travel with us back to England and to our new home," he took a sip of his drink as he watched this MacKenzie man mull the proposition over, "now normally, I wouldn't be in such a knee-jerk reaction to hire someone to watch over something so priceless to me, but as I mentioned my hands are tied, and Fitzgerald highly recommended you. So I'm banking on the fact that you're as good as he says you are and putting my trust in you. You'll be paid handsomely for it of course. So, I guess the question is, are you up for it?"

"So all I need to do is watch over your fiancee while you're gone?" Frank nodded in response, "you must be very trusting to leave your fiancee in the hands of another man..."

Frank's eyes darkened, "To be honest, I despise the idea all together," he took another sip of his drink, "I would have preferred a female bodyguard for her own comfort, but I have it on good authority that her ex is in the area and I can't risk her safety over her comfort - in case him and whatever mates he brought with him get close enough to grab her, I need to ensure the person protecting her is strong enough to fight them off," he placed the now empty tumbler on the table and leaned in close, "besides, if you were to lay a finger on her, I can guarantee you she will have been the last thing that you ever touch in this lifetime...do I make myself clear?"

"Not my style to sleep with a client, mate," MacKenzie stated with a chuckle, putting his hands up in mock surrender, "Nor to assault a woman." As he scratched an itch just above his eyebrow he didn't notice Frank's awkward shift in his seat, before he looked back to him, "Okay. I'm in."

Frank exhaled and smiled, "excellent," he said as he rose up, "well come up and I'll give you a quick tour of our room and give you the spare key so you can arrive tomorrow morning and I'll introduce you both before I head out. We'll just have to be quiet though, as she's currently sleeping."

MacKenzie rose to his feet and followed Frank to the elevators where they entered the lift. Stopping just three floors short of the top floor, the doors pinged open and the two men walked the corridor to the end of the hallway where Frank's suite was. MacKenzie's skillfully trained eyes took in all the features of the corridor: the emergency lights and exits, any nook and crannies that someone could hide behind...

And as Frank slid his room key into the key reader, raising his finger to his lips as he opened the door, MacKenzie stepped into the room almost silently behind him, turning and closing the door quietly, before turning around.

He froze.

His heart stopped for a few minutes as he saw the woman slumbering soundly on the bed.

He knew her.

Her hair was longer than the last time he saw her, but he'd recognize her anywhere, even if she couldn't remember him.

He kept his poker face on as he slowly and quietly passed by the bed behind Foster, noting the bandage that was placed just below her left temple, and the slow, even breaths that she inhaled and exhaled indicating that she was in a deep sleep.

And as he stepped into the adjoining suite, watching as Frank closed the french doors that separated them...

Patrick Gordon MacKenzie wondered just what the hell Carla Connor, the woman who was nearly killed by his now dead brother - the man responsible for him changing his last name to their mother's maiden name - was doing in Scotland...


	7. Chapter 7

"Just do as I say, Frank." George hissed at him as he went to answer the door, "don't say too much, don't lose your temper and you might-_might-_ just avoid being hauled down to the station." He opened the door of his client's house as Frank sat at the small dining table, his hands folded on the tabletop as his foot anxiously tapped the carpeted floor, hoping all he went through the past few hours would be worth it...

He had received a text in the wee hours of the morning from an unknown number and had made his move to quietly creep out of the room, so as not to awaken a deeply slumbering Carla, and headed down to the lobby to call the number provided in the text on the payphone. His contact Fitzgerald had answered and provided him with instructions on how to ensure he arrived back in Manchester as discreetly as possible. After scribbling down the instructions, Frank updated Fitzgerald on MacKenzie taking the job offer, and how he may need his assistance in the near future when it came to moving Carla out of Edinburgh.

He headed back up to the room to find Carla stirring awake. He helped her to the washroom, and after ordering up some breakfast and assisting her into the sitting area, there was a knock at the door. Patrick had entered before their breakfast order came through, and after introducing them and explaining to Carla that she would be under Patrick MacKenzie's watchful eye that morning as he had an urgent matter he couldn't get out of, he had driven the two plus hours from Edinburgh to Oxenholme The Lake District train station, where he caught the train to Manchester. His entire journey he used the burner phone provided by MacKenzie to him and texted him throughout the day, wanting to ensure that Carla was comfortable and protected. He was assured that she was about to meet with the doctor, and that she had been quietly sitting and thumbing through the magazines Frank had purchased prior to his departure - totally safe and comfortable. As the train pulled into Piccadilly Station, Frank began to feel his nerves get the better of him. He had shredded and flushed the notes he had made earlier that day in the train's lavatory, and, ensuring he had his train ticket and receipt for the purchase safely tucked away in his wallet, he disembarked onto the platform and out to the carpark where his solicitor had been awaiting his arrival.

It now came down to this moment. Would he be able to fool DC Malone once more...

"Ahh DC Malone, please, come in." George sweeped his arm in front of him, gesturing for her and the officer she was with to enter into the foyer. Malone made eye contact with Frank, who rose to his feet as she approached him.

"Mr. Foster, good of you to finally make an appearance." She stated sarcastically.

"DC Malone," Frank outstretched his hand for her to shake, pulling it back apprehensively when she refused to take it, "I'm sure my solicitor has explained to you about the mix-up?"

"Not as of yet Frank," George interrupted as he came to sit down, bringing with him a tape player and placing it on the table. "I felt it would be best for all involved if I brought some proof with me."

"It certainly would help." Malone stated as she took a seat opposite Frank, before motioning to the officer next to her. "This is Trainee Detective Constable Fitzgerald." Frank gave him an acknowledging nod, and Fitzgerald smirked at him out of Malone's sightline, as he himself sat down next to George.

"Okay Mr. Foster I'll get straight to the point shall I?" Malone said in a monotone voice, "When did you last see or have any contact with Ms Carla Connor?"

"Carla?" Frank asked confusedly, "It was when she had come here, to my home with her little sidekick, to confront me over taking 40% of the machines and material to open my own business," He said ensuring his voice had just the right dash of hurt. "You know this, I called you when she had left after threatening me. Why? What is she accusing me of now eh?"

"I'll ask the questions if you don't mind, Mr. Foster," Malone quipped

"Of course, my apologies," Frank acquiesced in a gentlemanly tone

"When did you attend a conference in France?"

"France? Oh, no, no I didn't go to France, I simply told Sally Webster that I was." Frank answered

"And why would you tell her you were going to France when you had no intention of doing so?" Malone asked curiously.

"Because, look she is a nice woman and she's been very supportive, but she's also incredibly clingy and, well, for lack of a better word, annoying," He answered nonchalantly. "She was constantly calling and asking how I was, and she wouldn't give me any breathing space. My parents are away on holiday, so I had no buffer room with her; and with all the stress with Carla and the looming trial, I panicked and I just needed to get away."

"Understandable. But why tell her France?" Malone asked.

"It was the furthest and yet most feasible location I could think of. Anywhere closer and she would have either insisted on coming or would have been ringing me every hour or so." He responded

"Funny though, that you should choose to go away just a day after Ms Connor lands in Glasgow, herself." Malone pointed out, trying to read his facial expression. "Especially when one of your workers," she paused to look at her notepad, "an Eileen Grimshaw, stated that you overheard a conversation she had with her co-worker Beth Tinker, about how Ms Connor was due back to Weatherfield in a few days, but only after stopping in Glasgow en route back from Los Angeles; a place she had travelled to in early November in an attempt to 'clear her mind'. How do you explain that? Coincidence?" her voice took on a sarcastic tone.

Frank raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly before answering, "I did overhear the conversation, but to be honest it more inspired me to simply take a page out of Carla's book, actually."

"How so?"

"The pressure and stress of these accusations was getting to me - is getting to me - and I don't have the _luxury _that Carla does to simply leave the country because unlike her, _my_ passport has been confiscated; so I simply travelled just a couple hours away to the Lake District, Oxenholme to be precise, in order to clear _my_ head. I'll admit though, I too would have much preferred the sun and sand on a hot beach in L.A. or even somewhere closer like Spain or Italy, but what can you do." He answered categorically, raising his hand and dropping it to his thigh dramatically for effect. "Look, I didn't jump the country, I've maintained the conditions of my bail and stayed within the 100 mile limit of my home, so what exactly is the issue here?"

"Ms Connor has gone missing, Mr. Foster." Malone stated firmly

Frank put on his best confused expression, "What?"

Malone nodded slowly, eyeing him carefully, "Are you honestly trying to convince me that you didn't know?"

"I can assure you, I had no idea!" Frank worriedly looked to his solicitor, "did you know about this George?"

"Yes I did, Frank. That was why I was trying to ring you." George turned to face the officer, pushing the tape recorder towards them. "Unfortunately, Frank left a voice mail with my secretary last week with his new mobile number and contact information. My incompetent secretary forgot to inform me and I had been calling Frank's old mobile number and emailing him at a deleted account during this investigation. He happened to call for a check in today and he was more than willing to have us meet him here, at the hotel he has been residing in since November 25th. Here, have a listen." George pressed the play button.

_"__Angela! Hi Frank Foster. If you could please pass on this message to George for me; I'm leaving town for a while to try to clear my head a bit. I'll be staying in Oxenholme in a hotel near the lake district, and I'll be staying there for the foreseeable. If you need to contact me, please call me here at the hotel, room number 209, or you can call my new mobile number...," _

Malone listened intently to the message, her narrowing eyes never leaving Frank's_, _

_"...or email me at my new email. My old email unfortunately is getting spammed due to the unfortunate circumstances with this trial. I'm sure you understand. George, I'll email Angela both of the phone numbers right now along with my new email address. Thanks George, and Angela of course, and I hope you can understand why I need to get away. I'll ensure I travel back each week for my bail signings should you wish to see me in person. Thanks, talk to you soon, and if I don't hear from you, happy holidays to you both."_

There was a loud beep followed by a robotic female voice, _"Message sent: Friday November 25__th__ 2011 at 8:36 p.m. from Frank John Foster."_

"And here is a copy of the email he sent on the same date," George stated, sliding the paper over to Malone and pointing at the date with his pen. "I've also taken it upon myself to pull up Frank's hotel record," he pulled more documents out of his file and placed them in front of her, again using his pen to highlight various points of interest, "as you can see, he ordered room service multiple times, he ordered in-room movies, and so on since his arrival. So there is no way, my client could have been in Glasgow when he was clearly there."

"Well, it appears you have all areas well and truly covered," Malone stated, "conveniently so, I might add..."

"Well, perhaps it looks that way because you're not looking at this situation from its more obvious angle," Frank replied, his eyes lowering to the table

"How do you mean?"

Frank raised his gaze to her, "well wouldn't it be more of a convenience if it was the other way around? If Carla just _happens_ to go missing a few days after it was known that_ I_ had left for a 'conference'; have you thought of that possibility?"

"Oh please," Malone chuckled, leaning back in her chair, "Well, you have me intrigued, Mr Foster. Enlighten us."

"Okay, I'll humour you," Frank began coyly, "how did you find out that she was 'missing'?"

"She had called Mrs. Leanne Barlow," Malone responded thinly, "in a rather frantic state and asked her if Peter Barlow was, in fact, in Weatherfield and not in Glasgow; as someone claiming to be him had allegedly approached the family friend she was staying with. And it so happens that quite a number of people in the pub on Coronation Street heard her struggling with somebody before Mrs. Barlow's line went dead."

Frank smirked, "and there it is..."

"There what is?" Malone shook her head in confusion

"Peter Barlow and Carla Connor."

"What about them?"

"She just happens to call his wife in a panicked state, mentions Peter's name and then the line goes dead? ... I mean what better way to throw Leanne off the scent of their affair, then pretending that Carla was attacked again, right? By someone pretending to be her lover no less? This is probably all a setup with that family friend in on it as well..."

"Seems like a big risk to take by all accounts," Malone responded reaching into her file and leafing through the papers, "besides, according to the family friend Mrs Connor was staying with: the man who had come to his door in Glasgow - the man who introduced himself as 'Peter Barlow'-," she removed the paper she was looking for and placed it in front of Frank, "happens to looks exactly like _you_,"

Frank stared down at his likeness in the police sketch that resided below him on the table and felt his jaw twitch.

"So you tell me Mr. Foster," Malone stated, tapping the table next to the paper, "how did that person, happen to get your resemblance almost spot on, for never seeing you before?"

George scoffed, "Oh come on Malone. Surely this family friend could have been told what Frank looked like through Mrs Connor. That's hardly a reliable source now is it?"

Malone nodded, "You would be right, except that sketch wasn't provided to the artist by Aidan Connor," she smirked at Frank, who appeared to be losing some of his earlier bravado, "it was provided by a gardener who happened to be landscaping a garden across the road." She leaned back in her chair once more, arms folding over her chest, "so, would you like to try another conspiracy theory, Mr Foster? Or would the truth be a better fit, now...?"

* * *

"So how do you know Frank?"

Pat looked up from the newspaper he had been reading, his eyes coming to rest on the woman sitting on the sofa across from him, a magazine resting on her outstretched legs and a mug of tea wrapped warmly in her hands.

Other than him occasionally asking her how she was and if she needed anything, they had mostly been sitting in a quiet, companionable silence for well over four hours since Frank had left.

"We know each other through a mutual friend," he responded truthfully, "he wanted to ensure he had someone he could trust to look out for you while he was away."

She nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing slightly at him, "and we've never met before?" she asked

His interest piqued slightly, "Not to the best of my recollection," he lied, "why? Do I remind you of someone?"

She nodded again, "you seem strangely familiar to me," she whispered, "it's probably just the accent, really,"

"Know a lot of Scotsmen, then do you?"

She shook her head, "I don't know a lot of anything to be honest," she answered quietly, "I know that my last husband was Scottish, and from the only memory I have of him, you and he have similar eyes."

Pat tried not to show any emotion at the thought of looking similar to his brother, wanting to ensure he kept his eyes firmly on hers and silently hoping it would spark some memories of hers to come back.

She exhaled deeply before lowering her gaze, to her hands, "Your eyes seem kinder though," she continued, "I wish I could remember more than what I do of him. I just know that in the memory I do have of him, I was frightened of him."

"This whole thing must be very unsettling for you," he said kindly, "being only able to remember bits and pieces of people and moments?"

She pursed her lips and glanced around the room, "yeah, frustrating is the word," she responded, "the doctor said I would probably get glimpses of my memories coming back as I heal, but there's also a possibility that I may not get them all back. And so I'm trying to remember the ones that are coming to me as they do, but my mind gets so clouded with other images and voices and I start to confused as I try to remember."

"Would writing things down help, perhaps?" Pat asked

"It could," she shrugged, "but to be honest, I don't think Frank wants me to push my memories coming back..."

"Why's that, do you think?" he asked curiously

"I think he's worried that I'm going to remember something horrible that happened to me a couple months ago, and that by doing so, it might drive a wedge between us," she whispered, "I think he likes the fact that I have no memory of the pain, or the hurt," she swallowed, "or the fear..." She raised her eyes to the man opposite her, unsure why she was opening up to him the way she was but feeling somewhat safe in the familiarity that radiated off of him, "I think he feels that my not remembering is a way of protecting me..."

"But you don't agree?"

"Would you?" she asked solemnly, and he shook his head in agreeance, and she lowered her gaze to her tea, "I know he doesn't want me to feel any pain, I do believe that. And I believe he truly thinks it's better for me to feel numb than to feel pain. I think he worries that I won't believe I'm capable of being loved if I remember my past. Or maybe that he won't love me if I become who I was once again..."

He watched her as she spoke, and he felt his heart sink at the thought of this once charismatic, confident beauty he had met just two years prior, now reduced to the shell of the woman that sat across from him now.

"But what do you believe?" he asked gently as she looked up to him from the mug she rubbed between her hands

"That I'd rather feel pain," she answered, "than nothing at all..."

"Maybe I can help with that," Pat stated, rising to his feet and grabbing the small duffle bag by the door that he had come in with before returning to the armchair and rifling through it, "Ahh, here we go," he said triumphantly as he pulled out a small, leather bound notebook; placing his bag back on the ground and walking over to where Carla sat on the couch. He perched himself on the table across from her and held the notebook up to her, "I always carry a spare or two," he chuckled, "never know when it'll come in handy."

She carefully plucked it out of his hand and turned it over in her own, her eyebrow raising questioningly

"For you to write down your memories as they come back to you," he explained, and it's small enough that you can tuck it into a small pocket of your suitcase if you're worried Frank won't approve..."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her eyes meeting his once more

"Because I believe what you do. As painful as your past can be, those memories, they make up who you are, and why you are where you are. You need to remember who you are Carla," he whispered encouragingly, "not to punish yourself with pain, but because it's the only way you'll truly understand how you deserve to be loved. And not accept anything less than that..."

They were startled by a knock at the door.

"That's probably Dr. MacLeod coming for your checkup," Pat said as he moved to get up, before nodding to the book in her hand, "I won't tell Frank that you have that notepad, if you don't want him knowing; it'll be our secret if that's what you want."

She nodded, "our secret then," she responded and he smiled, rising to his feet and opening the door to the suite and introducing himself to the perplexed doctor...

* * *

"That doesn't prove anything," Frank shrugged his shoulders, taking a sip of his coffee, "I mean, can you prove that Carla, or this Aidan Connor fellow, didn't hire or pay that gardener to provide a description of me to the police?" he asked nonchalantly

"Is that the best defence you've got?" Malone scoffed

"Well, can you?" Frank lowered his mug to the table and shook his head inquisitively at her, "only one person _happens_ to be around when Carla is attacked, and it _happens_ to be some random gardener?" He leaned on his elbows, "what time approximately did she go missing?"

"Around half four," Malone responded

"Oh, well then," Frank chuckled and leaned back, "a gardener in November, landscaping at half four in the afternoon," he glanced to his solicitor who raised his eyebrows and smiled as well, "yeah, that doesn't sound convenient at all..."

"So, what are you saying? It didn't happen?" Fitzgerald asked, and Malone threw him a warning look,

"I'm only saying that it seems to be yet another coincidence that Carla is 'attacked' and it is Peter Barlow's name that keeps popping up. Seems like they are going to quite some considerable lengths to try to stitch me up, in order to cover for their affair, and to get rid of me from the business." He stated somberly.

"Seems like a major risk," Malone stated.

"Does it?" Frank asked leaning his arms onto the table, "And yet here you are: interrogating me over her 'mysterious' disappearance."

"Tell me, do you have any proof whatsoever, that my client was in Glasgow, Malone?" George asked, "Cold hard proof? Credible witnesses? DNA evidence? Anything that could prove he was in Glasgow at the same time as Mrs Connor?"

Malone knew she was trapped, "Not at the present time, no," She answered

"Well, then as we have kindly provided you with everything proving my client was in Oxenholme at the time of Mrs Connor's alleged disappearance, am I to assume you will be letting my client go? Or will you be arresting him?"

"He's free to go." Malone answered not removing her eyes from Frank's. "For now…"

"Excellent." George said standing up, along with Malone and Fitzgerald as they headed towards the hallway.

"Malone?" Frank stated quietly, waiting for her to look back towards him, "please let me know when you find her."

"Why Mr. Foster?" Malone asked inquisitively, "why would you want to know when we find the woman who is, in your own words, hell bent on destroying you?"

"Because I still love her." Frank whispered, his eyes brimming with tears, "And I can't help but think that she is just being used in Peter Barlow's mind games. She's not as tough as she acts you know; she's very vulnerable. And I know that deep down, she doesn't want to do this to me."

Malone stared at him for a long moment before speaking, "Fitzgerald? Could you go ahead and contact the hotel manager in Oxenholme? I'll meet you outside," She handed him a paper; Fitzgerald gave a nod and a knowing glance to Frank before departing. Malone looked to George, "May I have a word with your client in private for a moment?"

"What is this concerning?" George said defensively.

"It's okay George," Frank interrupted, "Really, I'll be alright."

George gave both Frank and Malone an inquisitive look, "I'll be outside if you need me," he stated and followed Fitzgerald out.

Malone turned to face Frank. "Do you really still love her Mr. Foster?"

Frank looked to the ground somberly, nodding his head slowly "with all my heart."

Malone nodded with him, her eyebrows raising as she asked, "and you still maintain that she made up the rape in an attempt to relinquish you as a business partner?"

"Yes, I would never hurt her, especially not in the way she's accusing me of." He answered

Malone turned as if she were ready to leave before turning back, as if a question just came to mind, "Do you remember Mr. Foster how I said that it was quite the high-risk strategy for her to go through to get rid of you business-wise? By crying rape, having to go through the questioning, the courts, and so on?"

"Yes I do, and I maintain that she obviously will go to any lengths to get rid of me." Frank stated, "I just don't think that if she were in a stable frame of mind, that she would be doing it. I think she's been hurt so badly in the past and I think she is vulnerable and I think Peter Barlow is manipulating her fragile state."

"Hmmm." Malone drummed thoughtfully. "So you weren't aware that Mrs Connor was planning on dropping the charges?"

Frank couldn't mask the shock on his face, "She what?" he croaked out.

"Yeah, it was one of the reasons her sister-in-law Michelle insisted she go to L.A. to 'clear her mind'. She, like other women in her situation, felt that by dropping the charges they could begin to acquire back some sense of normalcy to their lives. Her sister-in-law felt it best that she head to L.A. and give that option some serious thought, before doing something she might regret." Malone said to him

"One of the reasons?" Frank asked, dread filling his mind. "What others were there?"

Malone sighed deeply before she spoke again, "Just one. Apparently, when her sister-in-law and Mr. McCarthy returned from their vacation, they found Ms Connor to be in quite a tormented state. According to Michelle Connor, Mrs Connor said she felt like her mind was _your _own private playground." She watched as the colour drained from Frank's face, "that she saw you all the time, and that she could hear your voice constantly berating her, and she desperately wanted it to stop: by any means necessary..."

"What are you implying?" He shuddered

Malone narrowed her eyes at him, but refused to answer.

"Come on," Frank pressed, "you can't say something like that and then just leave it there..."

"All I'm going to say Mr. Foster, is that according to her sister-in-law, Mrs. Connor wanted to stop reliving what happened to her in her own home by the man who claimed to love her." She observed his reaction, as he pieced together what she was implying; it was clear to her that he had no idea of Carla's attempt to end her life. The only reason she herself knew about it was because Michelle felt she should know how far Carla would go to end his torment of her: that if she felt there was no other way out of his clutches, that there was a strong possibility that she would take her own life.

Malone turned her back on him, leaving Frank shaking and struggling to process what he had just been told. She turned back to face him as she opened the door to leave, "Like I said Mr. Foster," she stated coolly, "seems like an awful high-risk strategy to go through **_simply_** to get rid of you."

Malone exited Frank's house, offering a curt nod to his solicitor with a curt, "I'll be in touch," before climbing into the car with Fitzgerald. She believed that in his own twisted and controlling way, Frank did love Carla. She hoped that by implying the depth of her fragile state, that he would at the very least worry about her safety and well-being and contact the person he was working with in a panic. If he was indeed the one who was responsible for Carla's disappearance, he had to be working with someone. And she would make damn sure she found out who...

* * *

"Okay, we'll hit this hotel next and if no joy, then we'll meet the others, grab some grub and regroup." Marcus stated as he, Aidan and Peter walked towards The Caledonian Waldorf Astoria hotel.

"Looks like they've had no luck themselves," Aidan said, glancing down to his phone and the message left to him by Gary as they stopped briefly in front of St John's church and stepped out of the way of the pedestrian traffic that bustled past them.

"Well we're running out of places to look," Marcus exclaimed as they crossed the road, "If she's not in the next couple hotels we check, I'd say he's already moved her someplace else, if he was even in a hotel at all."

"Well where else would he have taken her?" Peter questioned, stubbing out his cigarette in the provided canister outside the hotel doors

"Could have rented a place?" Marcus responded, "a flat? A bed and breakfast, maybe?"

"Let's hope we get a lead then," Aidan sighed, "Otherwise we may need to rethink our strategy and split into three groups,"

"May have to," Marcus stated as they entered the lavish lobby, all feeling slightly out of place in their clothing as they took in the decorative surroundings.

Peter's phone began buzzing as they walked past the concierge desk, "hang on," he said, his hand grabbing Aidan's and halting him, "it's Michelle," he quickly answered the phone, "Michelle?"

Marcus and Aidan watched as the bookie's face contorted in cnfusion and despair, "What?" he nearly shouted down the phone, "When?" He raised his gaze to the men in front of him,

"Peter, what the hell is it?" Marcus questioned, his voice low

"It's Frank," Peter shuddered, "he's back in Weatherfield."

"What about Carla?" Aidan questioned but Peter shook his head, as Michelle continued to speak through the receiver of his phone, "they haven't seen her, but surely he wouldn't let her out of his sight, right? She's gotta be there with him, somewhere!"

"Come on, then!" Marcus shouted at them as he made a run for the main doors, "Aidan, call Gaz, I'll hail us a cab!"

The three men jogged out of the hotel lobby, nearly crashing into an older man as he too was exiting the hotel via the front doors

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Peter reeled as he grabbed hold of the man before he toppled over, "my apologies, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes," the man responded, "I'm fine I can assure you,"

"Are you sure?" Peter asked as a cab pulled up,

"Yes, honestly, I can see you're in a rush. No harm done." The man smiled kindly at him, "go on, your friends are waiting," he gestured to the cab

"Thanks, and I'm really, really sorry again," Peter stated as he climbed into the cab

Dr. MacLeod watched as the cab sped off, shaking his head, _'I bet you anything it has to do with a woman,'_ he innocently thought as a smile crossed his face, and he raised his hand to hail another cab...


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: This chapter contains mature subject matter including a depiction of a sexual assault that may be triggering.**_

_**Reader Discretion is advised**_

* * *

He was sat on the train, gazing out the window beside him, his mind not on the journey but back to the dining room of his house earlier that day, and to the words that Malone had uttered that were burning continuous imprints on his mind:

_"...it was one of the reasons her sister-in-law Michelle insisted she go to L.A. to 'clear her mind'. She, like other women in her situation, felt that by dropping the charges they could begin to acquire back some sense of normalcy to their lives. Her sister-in-law felt it best that she head to L.A. and give that option some serious thought, before doing something she might regret." Malone said to him_

_"One of the reasons?" He had asked, dread filling his mind. "What others were there?"_

_Malone sighed deeply before she spoke again, "Just one. Apparently, when her sister-in-law and Mr. McCarthy returned from their vacation, they found Ms Connor to be in quite a tormented state. According to Michelle Connor, Mrs Connor said she felt like her mind was your own private playground." He felt the colour drain from his face, "that she saw you all the time, and that she could hear your voice constantly berating her, and she desperately wanted it to stop: by any means necessary..."_

_"What are you implying?" He had shuddered_

_Malone narrowed her eyes at him, but refused to answer._

_"Come on," He had pressed, "you can't say something like that and then just leave it there..."_

_"All I'm going to say Mr. Foster, is that according to her sister-in-law, Mrs. Connor wanted to stop reliving what happened to her in her own home by the man who claimed to love her..."_

This was all he thought about as he sat on the train back to Oxenholme an hour later:

What exactly had she attempted to do?

Surely she wouldn't have-

Frank had shaken his head as if to jolt the thought from his mind. No. That wasn't Carla.

But then he had paused, his eyes staring into the back of the seat ahead of him. Or was it...?

She did after all admit to him, during one of her more vulnerable moments that she wasn't as strong as she appeared to be...

_"Oh no, that's front darlin', you know: show time? And I don't admit that to many people..."_

She had been broken down and never fully put herself back together; and he knew that when he did what he did on the night of September the 19th

He couldn't shake the image of her as he walked back into the flat with the takeaway and the wine...the way she crawled backwards on the couch away from him, her legs tucking themselves up against her as she fearfully asked what he was doing there; how scared and frightened she looked...

...and then came the rage; her face contorting in anger as she ordered him to get out, her body launching itself over the back of the settee as she rushed towards him, stopped only by one of the officers, who struggled to haul a seething Carla back into the bedroom.

He remembered how different her fight was just an hour prior; how she went from attempting to fight him off to having none left in her.

When he threw her to the ground that night she had tried to crawl away, but he easily pulled her back, pressing her face into the wood panels below as he pinned her to the floor on her stomach with his elbow pressing painfully into her back. Her hands flailed about as she begged him to let her go, becoming panicky when she heard him unzip his pants, and she cried 'no' repeatedly as she clawed and pushed against the floor feebly in an attempt to push herself up and him off. Once he shuffled his pants down he raised himself from her; quickly grabbing her thigh and her shoulder, he whipped her around, the back of her head smacking against the floor again and she paused momentarily as dizziness set in about her and her top split open, tantalizing revealing the bra that lay beneath.

Her distraction afforded him the opportunity to rip her underwear from her and hike up her skirt, his fingers grabbing the flesh of her thighs as he positioned himself over her. He swatted away her hands as they tried to push at his chest, and he grabbed her neck, his fingers digging in briefly as she struggled against him, and in that moment he thrust into her, his fingers squeezing the delicate skin of her throat to stifle the scream she tried to break through, and she instead began struggling to take in a breath.

He quickly released her throat and she coughed and gasped, the tears that had trailed down her face now flowing like stream, as she begged him to stop, her voice hoarse and cracking, but he wasn't listening. His hands were everywhere, grabbing her hips, forcing her thighs open more, and as she continued feebly trying to push against his chest, he viciously grabbed her wrists, and pinned them on either side of her head as he continued to thrust inside her. She was sobbing at this point, begging and pleading, telling him he was hurting her but it only spurred him on. And as he picked up speed, pounding viciously into her, she suddenly stopped struggling...she stopped begging.

He remembered how she couldn't remove her eyes from his, but in those last few moments she stopped fighting him, and as he felt her body reluctantly relax beneath him he began to grunt next to her ear, his orgasm edging ever closer. And when he released, she squeezed her eyes closed as a painful sob emitted from her quivering lips and she turned her head away, while he hovered above her, observing her, as if seeing her for the first time since the fog descended when she asked him to leave.

He had quickly removed himself painfully form her, and she instinctively pushed her skirt down and turned onto her side, trying to curl into a ball as he rose to his feet and watched her...

And now, on his way back to Oxenholme, his eyes glanced at the scenery as it rushed past him on the train and he felt a tear slide down his face...

* * *

Frank had made his way into his hotel room, quickly emptying his pockets and tossing the items onto the bedside table before grabbing the complimentary bottle of water and collapsing into the chair by the window, his fingers prying the tie around his neck open as he breathed erratically.

He took a swig of water and rubbed his forehead, berating himself for losing his temper that night in September. _'I shouldn't be surprised really,'_ he thought '_It's a family curse'_. He _always_ lost his temper, but had perfected the art of hiding it well beneath a calm exterior. He learned that well from his father… amongst other things; like how to break a woman down, isolate her, and make her completely dependent on him.

He thought back on his parent's relationship when he was growing up; his mother had no friends outside of other couples, and most of them were acquaintances of his dad's. Whenever they would go out together, it was okay for him to flirt and hit on other women, but his wife was not to do the same with men. His parents' marriage was based on old and outdated values, and yet it seemed to work for them. His father was the breadwinner and his mother stayed at home and raised their son…until his father came home. Then he would have private tete-a-tete's with him in the den with the door locked. His mother was not privy to these discussions. His father was molding him into a hard man, one that would assert his authority over others, and especially over the 'fairer sex'.

He stood up and walked to the window, leaning his arm against its pane. He remembered back to a conversation he had with his father upon visiting home from university; it was the conversation that changed him from the calm, loving man he had once been into the jealous, manipulative one he was today.

_"__So what happened with Emma?" Sam asked his dejected looking son as he locked the door to the den._

_"__I broke it off with her. She was cheating on me with her ex-boyfriend." Frank stated sadly, accepting the glass of whiskey his father handed to him. "2 years together down the drain."_

_"__How did you find out?" Sam asked as he sat down in the armchair directly across from his son, holding the tumbler of whiskey in his hands and eyeing him carefully._

_Frank took a deep breath before answering, "I caught them together - in our bed." His voice was wrought with emotion as all the feelings of that night came flooding back to him._

_"__So what are you going to do about it?" Sam asked taking a sip of the amber liquid. Frank's eyes shot up to meet his father's._

_"__What do you mean? I broke it off with her dad, and kicked her out of the flat. What more do you expect me to do?" His voice was defeated as he took a sip of his whiskey._

_"__A hell of a lot more than that, my son." Sam stated maliciously._

_"__I don't understand." Frank was thoroughly confused with his father's implication._

_"__What have I been telling you all these years? Has nothing passed through that thick skull of yours?" Sam's tone was harsh, making sure each word cut into his son as deeply as the last. "You never let a woman walk all over you Frank. The whole woman's movement nonsense, and equality over the last few decades: it's utter madness and mark my words, the world will go to hell in a hand basket quickly if men like us don't start taking back what's ours." Sam leaned forward in his chair, his eyes menacing and Frank recoiled a little further into his chair. "Now you listen to me son: don't you ever let a woman get away with betraying you. Emma was yours, she belonged to you. And you let another man walk in and take her from you. Fine, it's too late to do anything about taking her back now. But you can still make her life a living hell."_

_"__I just want to move on dad."_

_"__No you don't." Sam pounded his fist on the side table, causing Frank to jump. "No. You will make her life a misery Frank. You will make it known that she is tart. Make those at her workplace see her like one. And once you ruin her reputation, you will take her for every penny she has."_

_"__But-"_

_"__If you don't Frank I will!" Sam threatened._

_"__Okay." Frank reluctantly agreed._

_"__She betrayed you Frank," his father's voice taunted him, "she made you look like a weak little pansy."_

_"__Stop it-" Frank put his head between his hands trying to cover his ears, but his father kept pressing._

_"__She never loved you. She never wanted to be with you, she only ever wanted to be with him."_

_"__No." Frank whispered _

_"__She was just using you, Frank. Using you to win back the man she really loved."_

_"__Please dad," Frank's voice was pleading as he rocked back and forth, feeling both beaten down and angry simultaneously, "just please stop it…"_

_"__She was probably thinking of him every single time she was with you-"_

_Frank felt a surge of anger and he stood up and angrily whipped the tumbler across the den, hearing it smash as it made contact with the wall. His eyes were blazing, tears that had escaped his eyes at his father's taunting still clung to his cheeks as his hands clenched and unclenched into fists, and he fixed his father with a menacing stare._

_"__That's it!" Sam cried triumphantly as he rose to his feet and placed both hands on his son's shoulders, "Now use that anger son. Use that anger and make that cold-hearted little bitch suffer." Frank nodded in agreement and went to leave the room before he felt his father's fingers dig into his arm pulling him backwards. Sam's voice was low, practically whispering in his son's ear, "and next time Frank, next time a woman betrays you like this, you make sure she knows who she, and her body, belongs to."_

_Frank turned to look at his father, a mix of shock and horror infused in his eyes, "You- You're encouraging me to commit a crime?"_

_"__Oh don't be naive Frank!" his father spat, before lowering his voice to a whisper again, "It's only a crime if you get caught. And even then, you can always get out of it."_

_Frank nodded again and pulled away from his father's grasp, promising himself he would never allow himself to become the kind of man his father was trying to mold him into..._

He slumped back into the chair, and that's where he found himself still, over an hour later; not yet moved, his eyes simply staring at the greenery outside, until his burner phone vibrated on the table next to him and he jumped in shock.

"Hello?" he answered warily

"I've got the information you asked for Foster," Fitzgerald's voice came through, "it took some digging but I managed to get my mate to hack into the hospital database,"

Frank leaned forward in his chair, "And?" he asked probingly, "what did you find?"

"Carla Connor-" Fitzgerald read in a lazily logical manner, "admitted to A&E on September 29th with signs of suspected overdose -"

Frank felt his chest constrict, his eyes closing as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. The news he had been dreading was worse than he had imagined...

And he felt sick...

"-found unconscious but with vital signs - weak pulse; patient conscious and began vomiting en route to hospital, blah blah blah, stomach pumped and vomiting induced-". Fitzgerald continued on, "patient confirmed that she had taken multiple sleeping tablets after drinking alcohol and proceeded to drink alcohol afterwards until she collapsed in flat -" Frank felt the bile he had been trying to push down rise up from his stomach, and he made a beeline to the bathroom. Once inside he sat on the edge of the bathtub, dropping the mobile to the tiles below and pressing the back of his hand to his mouth as he tried to stop the sobs that emitted from his lips. His body shaking violently at the images that ran through his mind:

Carla lying motionless on the floor of her flat…

Medics feeling for a pulse…

Breathing oxygen into her mouth…

Her lips…those lips that he loved, struggling to draw a breath into her perfect but dying body…

Unable to hold back, he rushed for the toilet, leaning forward and retching into the porcelain bowl. He could hear Fitzgerald's voice through the mobile as it lay on the floor next to him, asking him if he was all right.

_All right…?_ he scoffed at the thought. He would never be all right again.

No. He had to get back to the Edinburgh; he had to hold her in his arms and ensure that she was alive and well. He shakily picked up his mobile, hastily assuring Fitzgerald that he was fine, and to let him know the moment it was safe for him to head back to Scotland.

He made his way to the sink, splashing cold water on his face and cupping some in his palm to drink, his mind awash with memories of that night in September, that shook him to his very core.

It was his father's ridiculing he heard in his mind the night he raped Carla; telling him to take back what was his; to force her to understand who she belonged to. Everything was pounding in his ears, his heart broken by yet another woman who was in love with someone other than him.

But Carla wasn't Emma…she meant so much more to him in the short time he knew her. He had desired her from the moment he saw her. He loved everything about her with every fibre of his being: her beauty, her laugh, her feistiness, her sharp-tongue…her vulnerability.

When he raped her that night, he never imagined that she would have tried to take her life. To be fair though, he really hadn't been thinking of the impact it would have on her afterwards at all. In that moment he just wanted to see her broken. He wanted her to feel just a shard of the pain she had bestowed on him. No, he wanted her to feel more: he needed to assert his dominance over her, he wanted her to beg, to plead; he wanted her to cry, to scream, to cower...he simply wanted to punish her.

He sighed heavily. He couldn't believe what he was capable of until he saw her cowering away from him on the floor after he forced himself on her; pulling herself tightly into a ball as he stood over her. But the realization of the horror of what had occurred quickly hit him like a slap in the face, and he ran from the flat, his mind trying to process and simultaneously justify what he had done.

He didn't know what he expected would happen afterwards...he had hoped that she would have been a broken wreck; ashamed to go out, perhaps be so overcome with guilt over what she had forced him to do to her, that she would rely solely on him. He often wondered what would have happened had he never left the flat; if he had he simply remained there with her. Would she have tried to run herself? Would she have tried to fight him? Or would she have become submissive in her frightened and fragile state? Too in fear of what he could do to her to run away or call the police. He couldn't deny that _that_ had been his hope.

But he _had_ run out of the flat, and she in turn had called Maria, and then the police. And after failing to bully her into dropping the charges two days later in the factory, he realized that perhaps she was stronger than even she gave herself credit for. Once released from prison he only had one thing on his mind: he wanted her back. And if he couldn't have her, then he would destroy her. It never even crossed his mind that she would try to kill herself.

The thought of living without her as his wife had been painful, but knowing he had come so close to losing her from this world altogether was downright unbearable; and it was all down to his actions...to what he did to her...

Frank sighed heavily. His father had indeed molded him into a monster. But how to prove that he wasn't? Could he break the cycle and become the man he believed he could be once?

As he stood staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he promised himself now that things would be different. He wouldn't play any more games with her and he wouldn't be rough with her ever again; whether her memories came back or not.

Somehow, he had to make things right again, and today would be the start…

* * *

"Here, take a seat," Pat gestured Frank to the sofa, as he finally arrived back to the Waldorf Astoria hotel suite just after 1:00 am., having remained in the Oxenholme hotel room for almost five hours before given the all clear from Fitzgerald, "let me get you a drink. Scotch alright?"

"Oh, uhh, yeah, that's fine, thanks," Frank responded, placing the small duffle bag next to the sofa that was filled with some of the clothes Carla had left at his house over the course of their short relationship as well as some recent purchases. Prior to leaving Oxenholme, while he awaited Fitzgerald to call, he drove himself into town and popped into some shops, distracting himself by purchasing some sweets, some magazines, and some toiletries that she could use.

He accepted the glass off of Pat, "Cheers Mackenzie. So uhh," he looked back over his shoulder at Carla, who was slumbering soundly on the bed and then back to Pat, gesturing with his head in her direction, "how is she?"

"Well she's running a bit of a fever-"

"What?" Frank chocked on his sip of scotch, looking momentarily horrified

"It's okay," Pat placated him, "that Dr MacLeod was the one who caught it really, she didn't seem to be experiencing many symptoms; he said it was just her body's way of acclimatizing and he felt that she needed to sleep as much as possible to allow her body to relax enough to fight it off. He gave her a sedative and she fell asleep on the sofa there," Pat took a sip of his scotch

"And how was she the rest of the evening?"

"Just as the doctor predicted really; she slept almost all afternoon," Pat responded quietly as he leaned his elbows on his thighs, "she was up in time for me to get some dinner down her neck, and then the doctor popped by again; gave her another injection of a sedative and she fell asleep an hour or so later, and has been undisturbed since," Pat eyed Frank as he worryingly looked at Carla, "she's still not got her appetite back fully," he continued, "but she managed to finish what was on her plate. I think she knows she needs her strength if she plans on fighting this ex of hers. Especially now that she's struggling to remember who she is and what exactly happened to her."

"She told you what happened?" Frank asked, his stomach sinking at the thought of her memories having come back so quickly

Pat shook his head, "not really," he answered taking another sip of his drink, "just said what you were able to tell her about what happened a couple months back. Things make sense now, really..."

"What does?"

"Why she's so jumpy every time a door slams in the hallway, why she flinches every time I moved about. It was all involuntary and she was getting a bit frustrated about it to be honest. I think the sedative was a good call on the doctor's part. She wasn't able to relax, consciously or subconsciously."

Frank nodded solemnly, "did the doctor mention anything else I should be aware about?"

Pat took a final sip of his scotch, "just that her wound is healing well and some of the stitches are ready to come out. He thinks by tomorrow he should be able to remove them all himself," he rose to his feet, "I best be making a move, Foster. I wasn't sure how late you'd be, so I've booked the room across the hall from you. If you need anything, just call my mobile or the room itself."

"That's quite an expense," Frank stated as he too stood up, "please, let me help you with the cost-"

"Don't be foolish," Pat waved him off, at Frank's questioning gaze he chuckled, "family inheritance. I do this job because I enjoy it, not because I need the money."

"Ahh," Frank nodded, "well that's very noble of you," he walked Pat to the door, "I will need to meet with you tomorrow morning though, perhaps when the doctor is here with Carla."

"Anything I should be concerned about?"

"No, not really. But I will have to go back to Manchester to tie up some loose ends at work, but I want to move her to our new home and thought you may be willing to drive her there and get her somewhat settled while I deal with the business?"

Pat nodded, "When?"

"As soon as possible, maybe tomorrow afternoon or evening?"

Pat eyed Frank curiously; he still wasn't entirely sure this man was the doting fiancee he seemingly appeared to be. But agreeing to transport Carla to wherever this house was, would allow him some more time with her, and perhaps help draw her memories back out. "Okay, I'll make my way over around 9ish?" at Frank's nod, he bid him goodnight and headed over to his room.

Once inside, Pat sighed and placed his hands on his hips as he went over the thoughts that plagued his mind. He didn't book the room because he was unsure when Frank would be back. He lived close enough to the city centre that he could travel back to his home at any point during the night. No, Pat had booked the room to ensure he kept a close eye on this Frank Foster...

Pat felt a protectiveness over Carla now, and until he was sure this man was everything he said he was, he would be staying as close to Carla as he could...

* * *

_"What time is the first appointment?" she asked as she swallowed her toast, flicking some of the residue that remained behind off her fingers as they sat lazily on the couch in her flat. _

_Frank glanced up from his paper, "oh, we see our first potential reception venue at mid-day my dear," he had answered as he popped his remaining piece of toast into his mouth_

_"Hmm, well…" she began as she swallowed some coffee, and swung her legs off the couch, casually placing her newspaper down on the table, "after we've seen all three, can we grab a bite to eat maybe?" she asked as she rose to a standing position and sauntered around the sofa._

_He placed his newspaper down, "that's a good idea, I need to keep my stamina up," he said rather pointedly as he watched her walk towards the kitchen. His eyes were engrossed to her backside as he took in the sway of her hips. God she looked gorgeous this morning, he thought; not that she didn't always look stunning, with or without makeup. But there was something relaxed about her on this particular Monday that made her all the more desirable to him. The fact that she had been extra snuggly and cozy with him in bed that morning didn't help his growing arousal._

_"Oh yes you do," she said rather seductively, turning slightly to address him as she reached for another slice of toast, "I want you 'all systems go' on our wedding night," she stated knowingly as she took a sip from her coffee before setting the mug down._

_From his place on the sofa, his eyes scanned her from top to bottom; taking in her satin robe and pyjamas and the way her hair was tucked behind her ears. He bit the inside of his lip before speaking pointedly, "I feel a bit 'all systems go' right now actually…"_

_She turned to face him, a large smile gracing her features, "oh do you?" she asked as she slowly and seductively walked towards him, biting her lower lip playfully as he grunted an utterance, and she let her eyes drop from his to his groin, "must be the coffee…" she teased playing with the toast in her hand._

_He rested his temple against the fingers of his curled hand as he gazed lustfully up at her, his elbow leaning on the back of the sofa, "bedroom?" he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question_

_She chewed a piece of toast and stopped a few feet from where he sat before smiling and leaning towards him playfully, "well seeing as it's bank holiday," she began, as she shifted from foot to foot in anticipation, "can I bring this with me?" she gestured to the toast in her hands._

_He kept his cool façade as he eyed the food in her hand before stating calmly, "your flat, your rules." He was up as quickly as a jack in the box and Carla let out a playful squeal as she ran around her dining table and beat him to the bedroom, the both of them laughing as he ensnared her waist in his arms and turned her towards him in a passionate embrace. He grabbed the toast from her fingers and threw it to the floor before pulling her closer to him and pressing his lips to her neck._

_"Hey!" she stated in mock annoyance, "I was enjoying that!" _

_"Well I want to enjoy you!" he breathed heavily turning her and slamming her back into the wall by the door before kissing her hungrily._

_She knew he was a passionate lover; but the more times they slept together, the more aggressive he became. She couldn't deny that she enjoyed it, but she was beginning to realize that he seemed to always want to be in control…and this time was no different. He quickly discarded her robe, and with a quick flick of his wrist her pyjama top flew open. His lips descended down her jaw, her neck, her chest, and he swirled his tongue around her left nipple as his fingers plunged anxiously down the hemline of the back of her pyjama trousers and gripped the tender flesh of her backside. His aggressiveness caused her to gasp and moan as his tongue continued to pleasure her breasts. She reached her hand down and masterfully stroked his bulge, causing him to groan and he rose back up to his full height so that he now towered over her. He hungrily kissed her again before pulling her closer to him, turning and pushing her back onto the bed…_

Carla awoke with a start, here eyes rapidly blinking as she took in her surroundings,

"Hey," Frank whispered as he moved from the chair and crouched next to her side of the bed, "you okay?" he asked as he ran a hand soothingly down her hair

Her gaze focused slowly on him, on his kind smile and concerned eyes and she snuggled down further under the duvet, nodding her head slowly ,"when did you get back?" she yawned

"About a half an hour ago," he responded quietly, "you looked so peaceful I've just been sitting here watching you,"

"That must have been entertaining," she chuckled dryly,

"If I had to spend the rest of my life just staring at you, Carla, I would die a very happy man,"

Carla smiled embarrassingly, "You don't want much, do you?"

"Just you," he smiled, placing a soft kiss on her forehead, "always," his fingers teasingly stroked along the back of her neck and she smiled at him crookedly, "I was just about to set up on the couch for the rest of the night, so you can get some more shut eye."

He planted another soft kiss on her forehead and made to stand up when she grasped his arm, "no," her soft voice whispered, "please stay." His heart leapt in his chest, but he nodded removing the robe he had put on over his pyjamas, and climbed into the bed next to her, wrapping his arms around her as she settled against him.

She didn't know why she asked him to stay with her, why she leaned into his embrace as he slid under the duvet and propped himself in a reclined position against the pillows. She was still wary of him, and yet she wanted to feel safe. And after that dream, that she was more than sure was a memory, she started to feel less suspicious of him. Surely, she had cared deeply for him. They seemed to get along so well...

And yet there was still that small, niggling feeling in the pit of her stomach that tried to warn her of impending danger, and she sighed. She may not have had a dreamless sleep, but upon awaking she had felt less dizzy, and the throbbing at the back of her head had finally ceased. She just felt so emotionally and physically drained, and the need for human contact seemed to overrule her gut feeling and she snuggled closer to Frank, planting a soft kiss on his fingers as she wrapped her arm around his torso.

He felt her hot breath tickling his chest as her breathing steadied to a slow rhythm. And as she drifted off to sleep, he continued gently stroking her hair and shoulder.

And in that moment, Frank found himself in a complete euphoric state. He didn't know how long this would last. He knew things would change the second her memories came flooding back, but for right now he planned on enjoying just being happy once more...


End file.
